The Darkest Thought You've Ever Had
by Basscop69
Summary: NOT A CHAPTER UPDATE - Sorry, just an Author's Note! Character death. Tragedy AU - based on 'The Pact'. Chuck and Blair, of course.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Beginning taken largely from Jodi Piccoult's 'The Pact'. **

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* * *

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Eleanor Waldorf glanced across at the man opposite her. Cyrus Rose had never made any secret of his admiration of her; it had taken eighteen months (and twice as many attempts on his part) to get her to agree to this one date.

Admittedly, she'd liked his sharp mind and tongue - he'd dealt with her divorce proceedings excellently. She couldn't have asked for a better lawyer. And it was flattering, really. And he made her laugh - in a way no man had. Not since Harold. After all, that was what had drawn her to her former husband in the first place. Cyrus had that same exuberance - and he challenged her, which she liked.

She also had to appreciate his taste in restaurants; the Italian he'd selected for tonight was most exquisite. And she found herself greatly enjoying his company. She was, for the first time in a long time, beginning to relax.

So when her phone rang, she was on the brink of ignoring it. Something Eleanor Waldorf almost never did. But really, she didn't want to be distracted from actually having a good time.

With an apologetic huff in Cyrus' direction - who merely chuckled and waved his hand, _no problem_ - she pulled out the phone, ready to snap at Laurel to leave her alone. She blinked as she realised she didn't recognise the number; and, frowning, answered it.

"Hello?"

The voice at the other end was unknown and male - "Mrs. Waldorf? This is Officer Oliver of the NYPD. Your daughter has been injured, and she's being taken to Lenox Hill Hospital."

* * *

"Well, what did they say?" Lily asked frantically, as she pulled her coat on.

"That Charles was injured, and going to Lenox Hill." Bart's tone was curt as he pulled his own coat on, stiffly, jerking out of his rigid state. Almost on automatic, even as it felt like his blood had frozen.

Lily grabbed her bag, following him out of their penthouse and into the elevator. Their meal lay forgotten on the dining room table, barely finished and ready to be cleared away by the bemused house staff.

"Was there an accident?"

Bart didn't even seem to hear her. He was already striding ahead, barking orders to have the car brought around.

"Bart," Lily stressed, sliding into the leather seats next to him. "Did they say what happened?"

She tried to catch her husband's hand; he didn't notice.

"Not an accident," he answered at last, brusquely. "They didn't say."

He'd already been over all the possibilities in his head - drug overdose, alcohol abuse, bar fight, a deal gone wrong, perhaps - car accident?

He knew his son's reckless ways; but he'd always assumed Chuck was at least smart enough to stop anything truly dangerous happening to him. He'd had calls to pick the boy up from prison before (easily arranged and paid off) - but hospital?

He felt sick, right to his gut.

"You should call Serena," he managed. Harsh. "And Eric. Let them know what's happening."

Because if he didn't have some semblance of control, he didn't know what he'd do.

"Right," Lily was saying, numbly; pulling herself together too. "Of course."

Eric would be a lot easier than his sister - he was staying at Jonathon's. But Lily felt a little ill as she realised that she had no idea where Serena could be. 'Out' had been her daughter's vague, usual response before she flitted through the door in teetering heels and a tiny dress. Lily would assume with Poppy Lifton, since Serena was on her umpteenth 'break' with Nate, and Blair never went out on school nights -

Blair.

"Bart," Lily caught his sleeve. "Was he with Blair?"

That would be the usual assumption; if Chuck wasn't in, he was with her.

Bart just shook his head. Terse. He didn't know.

* * *

"Eleanor!" Lily stopped as she recognised the woman, calling across the ER waiting room to her.

Eleanor looked - for the first time that Lily had known her - a mess. Her heels echoed as she paced the tiled floor, her flawless make up unable to conceal how pale she was. Lily barely noticed the short man at her side, trying and failing to hold her together.

"Eleanor, what's going on?"

Eleanor lifted her hand to her hair. "I don't know," she answered, almost faintly. "Blair is -" Her eyes narrowed on Bart, then back to Lily - "Is Charles here too? Is he-"

"We were just told he was injured," Lily answered anxiously. Bart was already marching over to the reception, demanding to see his son and know what the hell was going on.

A doctor appeared at that moment. "Mrs. Waldorf?"

Eleanor's gaze shot up. "Yes?"

The look in the man's eyes had already set an icy lump of dread in her stomach.

"If you'd like to come with me."

Slowly, rigidly, Eleanor followed him.

* * *

Chuck was aware of lights above his head; of pain and voices, passing in a blur.

"...Seventeen year-old male, Charles Bass - multiple lacerations to the head, BP seventy over..."

There was more pain - "...Pupils dilated..."

And then a brighter light, flashed straight into his eyes - "Charles? Can you hear me, Charles?"

_Chuck_, he wanted to say. _I'm Chuck Bass. _Not Charles. But was he still Chuck Bass? There was something missing, he knew, some reason why he wasn't, why he couldn't be -

"...We need to get him into an OR, now..."

Then blackness. And nothing else.

* * *

"I don't understand."

Eleanor stared at the doctor before her.

"She was with Charles, wasn't she? Chuck Bass?" Her voice rose; "They were brought in together?"

"Yes," the doctor answered. "They were."

"I don't understand," she repeated, rigidly.

But what she meant was - how could Chuck be fine if Blair wasn't?

* * *

"I don't give a damn about procedure," Bart hissed. "I want to see my son. Now."

The nurse visibly cringed under his icy stare. "You will, Mr. Bass, just as soon as he-"

"I was told he would be out of the operating theatre by now. _What_ is going on?"

"We're only-"

"Mr. Bass?" This was from an actual doctor this time; older and cleanly shaven, sharp green eyes. Someone who looked like he knew what he was doing. "Your son has been taken to a private room. He's lost some blood, but he's stable. He's going to be fine. He's unconscious for now, but you can come and see him."

Bart was already in action, sparing the doctor only a cursory glance. "Finally."

Lily shot the man an apologetic look as she followed her husband, remembering a polite thank you - a Rhodes woman never forgot her manners, after all.

They were taken through a series of corridors to the room; and once they got there, Bart had to stop.

Chuck was lying in the bed, unmoving, face white and eyes closed. The blood had been cleaned off him, but Bart could see that his hair was matted even from the doorway, a drip attached to his unnaturally still form.

He suddenly realised he was having difficulty breathing. That was his _son. _

Lily caught the half falter in his step. She reached for his arm; but he went stiff immediately, almost shaking her off. So she stayed silent, lump in her own throat as she gazed at her favourite stepson.

The doctor cleared his throat. "I'll give you some time. He should be coming around soon..."

They were interrupted by the chimes of Lily's phone - she pulled it out, distracted, to see Serena's name flash up. The doctor gave her a slightly disapproving look, and she remembered too late that cell phones weren't allowed in hospitals.

Bart seemed to snap out of a trance - his gaze flickered to the phone, too.

"You should take it. Tell her what's happening."

His eyes went straight back to Chuck. Fixed.

Lily apologized again and excused herself, with a last, fleeting glance at her husband and stepson.

* * *

"Ok, mom. I'll go pick Eric up - call me when you have more news."

Lily could hear the panic in her daughter's voice; she was just grateful that, for once, Serena actually sounded sober. And she'd actually picked up her phone.

Had Lily been thinking clearly, she might have questioned that - but now it was just a relief. Two of her children, at least, were safe.

"I will," she answered softly. "Love you."

She waited till Serena had hung up before doing the same. She breathed out, straightening her coat. She didn't know how she was supposed to deal with this - deal with Bart.

She suddenly caught a familiar voice.

"Just go, Cyrus!"

She turned to see Eleanor, standing at the exit, faced by the shorter man who'd been there earlier.

"You shouldn't be alone-"

"Eleanor." Lily was quick to approach them, reaching for the other woman.

"Lily." Eleanor's gaze was almost blank. That should have told her straight away that something was wrong. "What happened to Charles?" the Waldorf matriarch asked shortly, before Lily had a chance to say anything. "Is he all right?"

"He is," Lily assured her, relief surging through. "He's hurt, but he's stable now. He's going to be fine. Is Blair-"

"Blair's not hurt." Eleanor's voice was empty.

Lily closed her eyes. "Oh, thank God-"

"She'd dead."

Lily froze. She could only stare. "Wh..."

"A single gunshot wound to the head," Eleanor intoned. "Instant, apparently."

Lily's eyes widened in horror. "Gunshot?"

"I just had to identify her body." Eleanor let out a completely hollow laugh that sent a chill down Lily's spine. "You could barely even tell."

"But she was..."

"With Charles?" Eleanor's gaze finally fell on her, eyes burning. "Yes. She was."

Lily felt a little nauseous. "Eleanor, you can't seriously think-"

"Do you have to ring the father of your child," Eleanor hissed, "And tell him she's _dead_?" And, when Lily was silent; "No. I thought not. Now, if you'll excuse me."

The short man went to move after her, but she jerked free. "I said go _away_, Cyrus. I have things to do. Leave."

And with that, she disappeared.

* * *

Chuck still hadn't come round by the time Lily got back to the room; and Bart was standing exactly where she'd left him, upright, focused on what could only be Chuck's medical notes.

He glanced up briefly as she entered. "Are they all right?"

It took Lily a second to work out who he was talking about. Serena and Eric, of course. "They're fine." She swallowed. "Bart." Her voice was a little strangled.

He looked at her again. "What is it?"

"It's Blair," she whispered. "She..."

Bart's eyes had already narrowed with realisation; and there was a knock at the door.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bass?"

A middle aged man, smartly dressed, entered. "Detective Brown." He offered his hand. "I'm here to ask a few questions regarding your son and Miss Waldorf."

"Why?" Bart demanded sharply.

The man bowed his head, eyes flickering to the unconscious boy. "Perhaps we should take this outside."

"Perhaps you should tell us what this is about. Now." Bart's tone offered no room for argument, and the man sighed.

"I was called to the scene when they found Miss Waldorf's body. She was shot - and since your son was found with her, we need to investigate what exactly happened."

Bart's shoulders were tighter than Lily had ever seen them. "Well," he snapped, "We don't know any more than you do."

The detective merely pulled out a notebook. "Did your son tell you he was going out tonight?"

"No," Bart answered, curtly. "He never does."

"He doesn't need to," Lily amended. "He...well, he's seventeen. He's out most nights."

"So you had no idea where he was?" There wasn't surprise in the detective's voice, though; he was long accustomed to the lifestyle of Upper East Side brats.

Lily exchanged a swift glance with her husband. "If he was out anywhere, it probably would have been with Blair."

The detective nodded. "Did you know Blair Waldorf?"

"Yes," Lily swallowed. "I've known her since she was...a baby, really. So has Bart."

"And what relationship did she have with you son?"

"She was his girlfriend," Bart replied icily.

"They've known each other since kindergarten," Lily murmured. "They've been going out...what, three years now?"

"Four." Bart's voice was a brusque snap; Lily glanced at him in slight surprise. But he was silent, coldly regarding the detective.

"I'll need to talk to your son," Brown stated. "As soon as he wakes up."

"Detective," Lily attempted, frowning. "I'm sorry, but he's just been in surgery. You'll have to wait. And he doesn't even know about Blair yet." She shook her head, looking to Bart for support - "We can't just tell him, not like this. He loved her-"

The detective cut her off with a single shake of his head.

"He also may have shot her."

* * *

**A/N I know I should really be working on 'Not Your Autumn Moon, I Am The Night' - but I was seriously inspired after reading 'The Pact'. So some people may not be very keen on this idea; a dead Blair is not exactly an uplifting start. I am in desperate need of a Chuck who actually adores her, though (the show is depressing me that much)...maybe this is punishment for that Chuck, heh. **

**And I realise I should seriously get my own ideas rather than stealing from books the entire time...but anyway. I did really, really love Jodi Piccoult's novel. **

**I promise my fic will have its own story, and not follow hers completely. This is Chuck and Blair, after all! **

**And there will be CB interaction. (Even if it is just in flashbacks). **

**So...let me know if I should continue? :) **


	2. Chapter 2

Chuck Bass could not have told you his first memory of Blair Waldorf. He had no idea; there must have been a time when he didn't know her, obviously, but he could never remember. She was always just...there. Blair. Twined into every last one of his memories.

He remembered Harold laughing to Bart that Eleanor and Evelyn had used to push them around as babies; but all he'd been focused on, then, was the E-word. No one said the E-word. Not around Bart.

Chuck could remember freezing, glancing at his father - but the man had changed the subject so smoothly none of them even noticed. It had taken several months before Chuck had realised the E-word was the same as the M-word; Evelyn was mother. His mother. But both were forbidden topics in the Bass household.

Most of his kindergarten memories consisted of tormenting Blair Waldorf. Because she was always too perfect. Her dresses too pure, her curls too pristine - and he longed to shake her up. Dirty her. Just get his hands on her. Look, but don't touch; and Chuck had learnt by the age of four that the only way to get any attention was to break the rules.

It was never love at first sight - more like intense hate. (Which they would both insist till the end of the earth). Chuck should have known, really.

The only reason they were even friends, to begin with, was because her best friend was friends with his best friend.

Nate had always been too scared to even touch Blair - he much preferred the laughing blonde who smothered him in hugs and kisses. Chuck never kept to that taboo, which was the main reason Blair professed her intense dislike of him; and the more she shrieked her hatred, the harder he pushed.

Chuck and Blair came into an entity thanks to one person. Henry Dantes. The story was simple - he pushed Serena off the monkey bars, Serena cried, Nate hit him, Nate was given a time out.

Chuck hadn't even needed to confer with Blair - a single glance was all it took.

That break, someone spilled paint over every single picture lying out to dry. Every single picture, that was, except Henry Dantes'. Blair Waldorf was the picture of innocence as she told Miss Bates she'd _seen _him going back into the classroom that break when everyone else was outside.

It was then, watching her, that Chuck had decided that for a girl, she was all right. That he actually liked Blair Waldorf.

* * *

Chuck woke up to pain. Whatever they'd given him was in the process of wearing off. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. For a moment, all he needed to focus on was the muffled stabbing in his head, the raw ache in his throat. For a moment, he forgot.

Bart's voice soon brought him back.

"Charles."

Chuck eased his eyes open, taking in the figure of his father. Suited and immaculate as ever. It was enough to make him want to close his eyes again.

"Father."

Was that his voice, that hoarse?

Bart moved; and Chuck stiffened in surprise as he realised the old man had lifted a cup of water to his mouth. He drank without thinking, the liquid searing his throat.

When it was empty, Bart set it down.

Had Chuck been more lucid, he might have been aware of his father's awkwardness. He couldn't remember the last time the two of them had been in a room together. Alone.

"How are you feeling?" Bart had to clear his own throat, the question blunt and still uncertain. When did they ever talk about feelings, after all?

"Shit," Chuck croaked drily.

He could've sworn Bart's mouth twitched, ever so faintly - even though there was really nothing funny about this at all.

"Where am I?" he asked, quietly.

"Lenox Hill Hospital. You've had twelve stitches." The information was blank, clinical.

Chuck swallowed. "Where's she?"

Bart's jaw set. He could hardly even look at his son; his blue eyes hard.

"She's...gone."

Chuck had never seen Bart hesitate. There was first for everything, it seemed.

He closed his eyes again.

Like if he did, he could go back to sleep and none of this would have happened. It wasn't real. She'd always used to think that. Close your eyes and wish hard enough, and you could change all of it. Sheer willpower alone.

"Charles." His father's voice was a touch sharper.

Chuck kept his eyes squeezed firmly shut. None of it was real.

His father's voice again; but Bart wouldn't touch him. Chuck already knew that. Wouldn't even shake him.

As long as his eyes were closed, none of it was real. He could go to sleep again, erase all of it -

He heard, finally, the crease of Bart's suit as the man stood up.

Then there was silence.

He was gone.

Eyes still clamped shut, tight, Chuck turned into the pillow. The starch muffled his throat and nose, and he welcomed it. Like if he clenched his jaw tight enough, he could ignore the scorching, shameful agony of tears that he refused to let escape from his squeezed shut eyelids.

His shoulders shook under the sheets, harsh breaths struggling for release as he sobbed, silently, into his pillow. Screamed.

Because however hard you wish, you can't undo what's been done. He'd told her enough times. Hadn't he always told her?

* * *

"Is he awake yet?" Lily asked softly, joining her husband on the waiting room chairs.

"Yes."

He'd just watched, through the door's glass window, as his son _cried. _Had stood there, barely able to make out the choked, inhuman noise; like the boy was physically broken in two. And Bart hadn't done anything. Hadn't been able to do anything, other than watch. Couldn't even bring himself to go in and face his own son.

Lily exhaled. "The detective...wants to speak to him."

"No."

Bart's voice was like flint, immediate.

"Bart-"

"_No_," Bart snarled. "I've just had to tell him what happened to Blair."

"I know," Lily reassured him, gently. Her own voice was close to cracking. "I know that. But Chuck needs to tell him what happened, or-"

"He didn't kill her." Bart's voice was sharper than Lily had ever heard it; his eyes were boring into her now. "You can't tell me you believe that?" he hissed.

She lifted her brow in shock. "Of course I don't." Her eyes were wide - "Bart, how could you think that? I know Charles would never hurt Blair. I know."

"But?" His voice was little more than a growl.

Lily shook her head. "But...it's procedure. That's all. Look, I've spoken to the detective - and it's just procedure. If someone-" her voice shook, dangerously, "-Chuck was the last one to see her. They have to question him." She held her husband's gaze. "Bart," she said, firmly, "Whatever you're going through...remember, your child didn't die. You're not in Eleanor Waldorf's position. And the sooner they get to the bottom of this-"

"Fine," Bart snapped. "Fine. He can have five minutes. After Charles has eaten."

* * *

The dinner tray was returned untouched, the meal slowly congealing on the dish. Chuck wasn't even being obstinate; he physically couldn't consume any of it. He barely even noticed it was there.

His eyes were still closed, willing an oblivion that would never come, when the door was opened and his father's voice sounded again.

"Charles." And, without waiting for a response - "Charles, this is Detective Brown. He needs to ask you some questions."

Slowly, Chuck opened his eyes. A detective. How odd that it had never occurred to him - Chuck Bass, who predicted every outcome at least five moves ahead. The police. Of course, they'd need answers. There would be an investigation.

He eyed the man silently. "What can I help you with?" It was little more than a sneer, his voice still cracked.

Detective Brown's eyes slid to Bart.

Bart, however, stayed where he was. Cool. "Since my son is a minor," he said, acidly, "I believe you're required, by law, to question him with the presence of another adult."

And he stayed where he was.

Chuck's gaze flickered; he hadn't counted on that.

Neither had the detective, apparently.

"Of course." He cleared his throat, taking the seat next to the boy. Bart remained, watching both of them. "Could you tell me what you were doing, Charles, at nine o'clock this evening?"

The boy's voice was emotionless; and there was something about the hollowness in his eyes that set the detective on edge.

"You already know that. I was with Blair."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"She shot herself."

Even he wasn't prepared for Bart's sharp intake of breath.

"She...shot herself?" The detective repeated, slowly.

"Yes."

"Could you explain-"

"We had a pact," Chuck answered, blankly.

There was a long silence.

"A pact?" The detective managed at last.

"Suicide," Chuck stated. "I passed out before I could uphold my end." His voice was distant, his stare still vacant. It took Bart a moment to realise he didn't even recognise the boy in front of him. Chuck closed his eyes again. Blocking them all out. "We were going to kill ourselves. But Blair did, and I didn't."

* * *

Lily didn't get home from the hospital until the early hours of the morning; Bart had informed her he was staying there, and instructed her to go and check Serena and Eric were all right. Get some rest.

She highly doubted he would be getting any.

She set down her bag and coat, finally allowing herself to breathe out. She hadn't realised how shaky she was; just how close to tears she felt. Just the sight of Charles, alone in that bed - and Blair -

Blair, who was practically Serena's sister, and practically her own daughter by proxy. She still couldn't process what Bart had told her. She moved through the still apartment, heading for her children's rooms. Charles' door was closed, as ever. Silent and innocuous. She hesitated, only momentarily, outside. Drawing a breath, she pushed the door open.

There was nothing out of place. She'd always thought the room slightly clinical in its modernness - much like Bart's whole style. It was definitely masculine, the only traces of Chuck the flamboyant bedspread and the dirty girl scout portrait hanging over his bed.

That, and the two photos on his side table.

Lily's eyes passed over the dark high cheek-boned beauty in one of them, like they always did (the sacred E-word) - resting instead on the smaller of the two, closer to her stepson's pillow. She felt a lump form in her throat as she gazed at it.

Blair smiled out from the frame, body tucked into Chuck's. It had been taken at Christmas - Blair's favourite time of year, apparently - in Central Park, right next to Santa's Grotto. Serena had laughingly told her mother she'd dragged the four of them - NateChuckBlairSerena, like it always had been - because she'd known how much Blair used to adore going with Harold.

The photo was obviously supposed to be posed; Blair was standing, ready as ever, decked out in her cream coat, little blue beret and gloves. Chuck had clearly decided to mess it up, though - instead of looking at the camera, his dark gaze was locked on Blair, the lens only just catching the corner of his smirk as he caught her in his scarf, multi-colored check somehow complimenting her coat as perfectly as it clashed. And Blair's frozen smile was just slipping into a shocked, real grin of outrage at her boyfriend's cheek, even as her body slotted, tight, into his.

Lily felt her eyes prickle as she brushed the frame, lightly.

How could that Blair, and that Chuck, ever match up with anything Bart had said?

"Mom?"

She turned, swiftly wiping her eyes, to see a tousle-haired Serena standing in the doorway. She was wearing one of Eric's sweaters (too small for her, naturally), blue eyes wide in the darkness.

Lily forced a smile, moving towards her daughter. "Darling. Are you all right? Where's Eric?"

"He's asleep. I crashed in his bed." Serena was still staring at her, and Lily couldn't be sure she hadn't seen the tears glistening on her cheek. "Is Chuck ok? When can we see him? I tried ringing Blair, but-"

Lily's breath caught.

Serena stared. "Mom?"

"I'm so sorry," Lily whispered. She reached for her daughter's hand; "I'm so sorry, Serena." Serena hugged her mother, bewildered, trying to look at her.

"What's going on?"

Swallowing, Lily gathered the last of her strength. She had no choice but to tell her. The phone call, the hospital, Blair -

Serena just stared.

"What?" she whimpered at last. She started shaking her head. "No, that's not possible. She can't be. Mom, she can't. That's not-"

Lily took hold of her again, holding on for both of them.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered into her daughter's hair.

Serena was trembling violently. "But how?"

Lily could hardly look at her. "They're...they're saying it was suicide."

"_Suicide_?" Serena blinked. "Blair? Mom, have you lost your mind? Blair was never-"

"Charles said," Lily whispered. "Charles said they were both going to." She shook her head. "Serena, it doesn't make any sense to me either. Do you - were they ever-?"

"No," Serena insisted. "No, mom._" _Her eyes were blank with incomprehension. "Blair was my best friend. I would have _known_ if-"

"Charles said," Lily repeated. Like that was an answer. She shook her head again. "And now he's been committed into the psychiatric ward, and put on watch for the night, and Blair..."

But her daughter was already falling apart, she realised - the last thing she needed was for Lily to do the same. So she drew a deep breath, pulled herself together, and caught Serena's arm.

"Come on," she said softly. "It's late. I think we both need some sleep."

Serena's voice was hot, though, blank and obstinate; "Blair did _not_ commit suicide."

Lily closed her eyes. "All right, Serena. Let's go to bed."

"But-"

"Please," Lily sighed. Begged. "Darling, I can hardly think straight at the moment. And I doubt you can. I need sleep. Please?"

Finally, Serena gave in, fight leaving her body.

"I just can't believe it," she half whispered, broken.

Lily squeezed her hand. "I know," she murmured. Her eyes fluttered one final time to the photo, Blair still smiling out at her from between her stepson's arms. "I know."

* * *

It was the morning after Serena's sixeenth, dawn gradually creeping through the railings of the balcony. Admittedly, the balcony of Cece's Hamptons house would never be as high as the Manhattan rooftops that Chuck loved so much; but it was private, and overlooked the beach, and who really cared when Blair was in his arms?

He'd convinced her to drink too much the night before - no mean feat, when it came to Blair Waldorf - but it was worth it for the hilarious table top dancing she'd attempted. Under Serena's influence, of course. Blair Waldorf would never be a natural dancer, and that was why Chuck loved her.

He was fairly buzzed himself, tracing the plane of her shoulders, committing each groove of her spine to memory. Maybe that was the reason for his wandering thoughts. Chuck Bass never brooded - he wasn't Nate - but he questioned things, occasionally. When there was someone around he wanted to hear the answers from. Maybe he just wanted to provoke her, like always.

"Do you believe in heaven, Waldorf?"

She'd squinted up at him for a moment, suspiciously, like she thought he was making fun of her. Or attempting a sleazy line, or something. Something typically Chuck Bass.

But a glance at his face had told her he was actually being genuine, for once.

"Of course I do," she frowned. Like it was obvious.

He chuckled. "Catholic confessions aside..." He got a glower for that, as expected, "I never took you for a die-hard Christian. Don't tell me you've discovered God?"

"God and I have a deal," she informed him - and he knew it was only because she was still a little tipsy and still relaxed from post-coital bliss. A clearly thinking Waldorf would know this was golden material for merciless teasing.

"A deal?" He quirked an eyebrow, glancing down at her.

She sighed, pressing herself more closely into the warmth of his arms, his head nesting on her chin.

"Yes," she answered drowsily. "I have to have something to work towards, you know. Stalin didn't just have a five year plan. He also had a ten year plan, a twenty year plan..."

Chuck grinned again, and she must have felt the rumble of laughter in his chest, because she shot him another, sleepy, glare.

"You have to plan, Bass. And Blair Waldorf's plan includes, once dying peacefully in her bed-"

"After you've made your mark on the world," he filled in, seriously. "Instilled the Waldorf-Bass legacy."

"After I've made my mark on the world," she agreed without a hint of irony (and he loved her all the more), "Dying and having a glorious after life. I'm certainly not planning on going to hell. You can't be too careful."

Chuck smirked wickedly at that, hand snaking up her waist. "Oh really?"

She batted him away, sleepily. "Down, Bass."

He rolled his eyes, still smirking, and settled for pulling her closer instead.

"And what if there is no hell? Or heaven?" His mouth found the sweet spot where her neck joined her collar bone. "What if there's nothing?"

Her eyes shot open at that. "Don't say that!"

He laughed. "What?"

But she was properly glaring at him now, and he realised she was actually upset.

He frowned. "What?"

"This is not a John Lenon song," she snapped. "The plan is for you to join me in heaven, you idiot."

He had to smirk at that, even though he knew she was deadly serious. Still, his smirk became a grimace for the briefest second. He tugged her back against his chest, quieting her as his lips buried in her hair. "I'm not so sure about heaven," he murmured wryly. "For Chuck Bass."

He felt her eye roll. "You don't get a choice. I'm dragging you with me." She wriggled in his arms, lashes fluttering closed again. "Anyway," she mumbled grumpily - the hangover was definitely already kicking in - "Why are we wasting time on such a morbid conversation? I'm tired. Blair Waldorf needs her beauty sleep."

He was still smirking as he kissed her, just once, short and sweet.

"You're supposed to say I'm pretty enough already."

He traced the outline of her lashes, playfully, breathing in the scent of her shampoo as he gazed down at her.

"You're beautiful, Waldorf. Ravishing."

"And we're going to heaven together. Yes?"

She was already half asleep as he hid his exasperated grin in her hair. "Yes," he agreed, drily. (Seriously, because if she believed it then maybe he could, too).

But that was one month before, when she'd been as clueless as he was.

And he should have known better. You didn't get things just because you _wished _for them. And he'd been doubly wrong, even then - there was always a hell.

Hell was no Blair Waldorf.

* * *

When Lily got to the hospital the next morning - accompanied by Serena and Eric, this time, both as pale as each other - Bart was already up and snapping questions at the same doctor.

"What I want to know is when my son is allowed to go home. He's been cleared from surgery-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bass. But we're not allowed to release Charles until he's been seen by a doctor from psychiatrics."

"For the last time," Bart hissed, "My son is _not _suicidal-"

Lily intervened then, catching her husband's arm. "Bart," she warned, quietly.

But Bart jerked her off. Almost involuntary.

He realised, too late, what he'd done, and managed to collect himself. He forced himself to turn to his wife, biting out a stiff apology.

"Did you sleep well?" Then, as he took in his stepchildren; "Are you two all right?"

Serena managed a nod - a lie - worrying her lip. Eric was still ashen-faced. "Can we see him?" he whispered.

Bart sighed, running his hand over his head. "I'm not sure if that's the best of ideas."

Lily frowned a little. "Bart, I'm sure Charles would like to-"

"For them," Bart interjected brusquely. "I'm sure Charles would like to see Eric and Serena, but he's not in the best of states." He glanced at his young stepson, briefly. "I don't think they should be exposed to that."

Eric lifted his head. "He's our brother," he insisted, softly. "We want to see him."

"Eric-" Lily attempted.

"We want to see him," he repeated. He looked over at his stepfather. Voice still little more than a whisper. "Please?"

Bart sighed impatiently. Finally, he shook his head. "Fine. But not too long." He turned, muttering, "And in the meantime, I need to find a doctor who actually knows what he's talking about." He was already moving off.

Lily shot her children a slightly helpless look. "Could you show my children to Charles' room?" she asked the doctor. "Serena," she added - catching her arm, just for a second - "Look after your brother. I'll be along in a few moments." Still shaking her head, she strode after her husband.

Serena took her brother's hand, and the two of them followed the doctor.

When the two of them got to Chuck's room, he was in the same position that he had been all night - wide awake, facing the wall in silence.

Eric moved over to him instantly. "Chuck."

He was caught by surprise when his stepbrother's gaze finally moved to him. He didn't think he'd ever seen it more empty. The hazel irises were almost completely blank. He told himself it was probably the drugs they'd given him. Painkillers.

"Van der Woodsen."

But his voice was empty, too.

"How are you?" Eric swallowed. A wince crossed his face. "Sorry, stupid question."

It made the corner of Chuck's mouth curl, though, ever so faintly.

Eric had always appreciated the way his big brother never treated him like he was wrapped in cotton wool; and it occurred to him now, now, that Chuck would probably appreciate the same thing.

"You, uh, look awful."

"Not even Chuck Bass can pull off a hospital gown."

Eric tried to laugh, even smile - because it sounded like something Chuck Bass would say. It just didn't sound like Chuck Bass saying it. There was nothing, behind the words. And it made Eric's skin crawl, almost uncomfortably.

"I'm sure it's the lighting," he answered, weakly. Stupidly.

"I'm sure."

There was an awkward silence - and silences had never, never been awkward around Chuck before.

And finally Serena couldn't take it any more.

"Chuck."

He turned his head, slowly, in her direction. But she was too caught up to even notice those blank eyes.

"What happened?" she demanded. Desperate.

"She's gone."

His voice was still completely cut off. His gaze still unseeing.

And Serena's eyes filled with furious tears. "I know, Chuck. How?" She shook her head. "Mom said that-"

"Serena," Eric attempted; because this was surely the last thing he needed -

"No," Serena insisted. "I need to know. Blair is _dead_. My best friend got shot, and you were the last person to see her, Chuck. And now mom is saying that the two of you were suicidal, and I _know_ that's not true-"

"Do you?"

Chuck's lip twisted against its own will as he stared, hollowly, at his stepsister.

"Sis?" he sneered. "Do you _know_ that?"

Serena bit her lip. "Yes," she answered fiercely. "I know Blair."

"Knew."

Serena's eyes widened in horror, flinching - and for a moment, she looked as though she were about to slap her stepbrother. Or at least like she wanted to.

"What _happened_, Chuck?" she cried at last, instead. "What did you do?"

Chuck just closed his eyes.

But Eric had seen it - the briefest flickers of sheer agony.

_Not enough_, he wanted to snarl. Scream. _I didn't do enough, and that's the problem. _

Instead, he answered blankly, flatly - "She shot herself."

"She _didn't_," Serena spat. "You're lying. Blair would never-"

"Serena." Lily's appalled voice filled the room as she reached for her daughter. "That's enough." She tried to pull the girl away, but Serena rounded on her.

"He's lying, mom! I'm not leaving till I find out-"

"I said that's _enough_." Lily glared at her. "Serena," she said, very quietly, "Charles is clearly in no fit state to be having this discussion. Drop it. Or I'll have to ask you to leave."

Serena's eyes widened with injustice; she turned, seeking support, from her younger brother. But Eric was silent.

"Fine," she shouted. She didn't care about the scene she was making - and she definitely didn't care if she was disturbing her stepbrother. "Then I'll leave. I need to visit the Waldorfs, anyway. Because my best friend _died. _And I'm not going to sit here listening to lies about her."

And with that, she stormed out.

Lily sighed. "I'm sorry, Charles." She lifted her eyes heavenwards. "I'd better go after her, before she starts anything else." Apparently all Lily was doing today was calming people down.

Once she'd left, Eric glanced at Chuck again.

Chuck had resumed staring at the wall.

"You can say it," he muttered. "Little brother." The term of endearment that Eric usually enjoyed just sounded flat now; as soulless as the eyes now burning a hole in the plaster. "You don't think she was suicidal either."

* * *

**A/N - Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I'm glad people haven't immediately hated this...the story will be moving forwards, too :) Also, I can't promise updates as frequent as this one, heh - I'm sort of on a roll at the moment, and had a free evening. Probably won't be the case for future chapters, unfortunately, but I'll try to keep them fairly frequent! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - So: obviously, this is darker than my other fics. And if you've got this far, you know it deals with suicide. The last thing I want to do is upset anyone - so please, if you feel this might affect you - don't read! **

**Obviously I don't want to put people off, but thought I'd at least warn now. **

**Thanks so much for all your reviews :) **

**

* * *

**

Detective Brown shifted on his feet in the hall of the Waldorf penthouse. He'd been shown in by some kind of Polish maid, her round face still tear-streaked and clearly lacking sleep. The apartment was large and elegant, as expected - and eerily silent. Also to be expected. The traces of the girl who had used to live there were few and far between; hydragenas and ornamental art in the place of any family photos.

Finally, there was the sound of footsteps, and Eleanor Waldorf appeared on the sweeping staircase. Brown could tell even from below that her carefully put together veneer was on the brink of snapping, expensive make up notwithstanding. Her face actually dropped as she saw him.

"Oh." She slowly moved down the stairs; "I thought perhaps you were my husband. Ex-husband," she added, faint. "His flight was due in this morning."

Brown cleared his throat, offering his hand. "I'm sorry. I'm Detective Brown."

She regarded him coldly. Hand refused. "Can I help you, detective?" Her lip had already curled.

"I'm investigating your daughter's death." He swallowed. "I'm very sorry about the circumstances, Mrs. Waldorf."

"I'm sure you are," she replied icily.

He'd been expecting this, though; the hostility. He'd had enough experience with Upper East Side dictators not to cower. He had a job to do, after all.

"I'd like to ask you some questions, if that's all right."

"No," she retorted. "Not really. As I said, I'm waiting for someone."

"It shouldn't take too long," he pressed. "And with all due respect, ma'am, it's important. We need to find out what happened."

"Well I don't _know _what happened. So I'm afraid you're wasting your time."

Brown pulled out his notebook. "If I could have a moment, nonetheless?"

Her lips pursed as she looked down her nose at him. "Very well," she responded at last, brittle. "If I must."

He gestured to the chaise lounge, but she ignored him to opt instead for a higher, stiffer chair. Hands pressed in her lap as she waited with barely concealed disdain.

Sighing, he took the lounger for himself. He knew it wasn't fair, but a job needed to be done. And someone had to do it.

"Did you know where you daughter was last night?"

"No," she answered shortly. "Other than with Charles, obviously. I was out myself."

"And what was her relationship with Charles Bass?"

"They were going out."

There was a pause, but it was clear that she wasn't going to elaborate any further.

"When was the last time you saw your daughter, Mrs. Waldorf?"

For the first time, the woman flinched. Just momentarily. Her eyes closest for the briefest of seconds.

"I...don't know." Her voice was a little thick. "I...that morning, I suppose. I must have seen her as I was leaving for work. But only for a couple of seconds." It was obvious it had been torturing her, even if she'd never admit it. "I don't remember," she said, rigidly. "I was busy."

"Did she seem all right to you?"

Eleanor frowned. "I suppose so. Of course."

(She wouldn't have noticed otherwise, was what she really meant. Her head had been filled with the designs for that morning.)

"And before that? When was the last time you had a chance to speak to her? Properly?"

"I..." Eleanor shook her head, impatient. Like she could shake it away. The guilt. "I don't know. It was a hectic week. I'd just got back from Milan." She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to remember. To find something. Anything. "We went out to dinner," she said, at last. "The weekend before last. We were celebrating my company's Bendels deal."

"And how did she seem to you, then?"

"Fine," Eleanor snapped. "She was...Blair." Her eyes narrowed. "Where are you going with this, exactly?"

The detective exhaled. "Do you think your daughter may have been suicidal, Mrs. Waldorf?"

Eleanor's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "What?" Her tone was incredulous, horrified - "No. Of course not."

Brown glanced down for a moment as his notes. "Mr. Bass," he informed her, "Has stated that the two of them had a suicide pact. He claims that your daughter shot herself, and he fainted before he could do the same."

Eleanor could only stare.

"No," she said, finally. "My daughter was not suicidal."

The detective bowed his head. But he had to keep going; he didn't have a choice. "How sure of that can you be, exactly?"

Eleanor was shaking now. She rose to her feet. "Get out of my house. Now."

"Mrs. Waldorf-"

"How dare you?" she seethed. "Come in here and suggest I don't know my own daughter? That she was _suicidal_, and I didn't notice?"

The detective opened his mouth to answer - but before he could, there was a noise at the elevator; and the doors opened to reveal a haggard looking man, usual soft brown eyes creased with worry and exhaustion. There was another man at his side, equally glamorous appearance somewhat disheveled. Like they'd both just stepped off a long flight.

The first man moved instantly to the Waldorf woman. "Eleanor."

His voice almost broke as he reached his former wife, standing helplessly before her. There were tears in his eyes, already worn with their tracks. He enfolded her in an embrace, seemingly oblivious to her uptight and unmoving posture.

It was a while before he noticed the detective; he finally remembered his manners, then, turning to him. "I'm sorry. You are-?"

"Detective Brown."

The man blinked a little, taking his hand. "Harold Waldorf," he responded, almost on automatic.

"The detective was just leaving," Eleanor interjected icily.

Harold looked bemused, glancing between his wife and the police officer. "Eleanor? What's going on?"

"What's going on," Eleanor hissed, "Is that this man is trying to tell me our daughter committed suicide."

Harold's eyes filled with tears again, just as horrified as his wife had been. Uncomprehending. "What?" His gaze shot helplessly between the two of them, looking for someone to explain what on earth was going on.

"Mr. and Mrs. Waldorf," the detective attempted, making himself heard at last. "All I'm telling you is the information that has been relayed to me. Obviously, that's why we're having an investigation. To work out if there's any truth behind it."

"Well, there's not," Harold answered. His voice was numb as his eyes slid again to his former wife. "Our daughter was going to Yale," he confirmed. "She was a straight A student with a 4.0 GPA. She was on honour roll. She was going to Yale," he insisted, again.

Eleanor just closed her eyes.

"Please leave," she instructed the detective faintly. "I've answered your questions." Her eyes snapped open again, suddenly. "The person you _should_ be questioning is Charles Bass."

Harold started. "Chuck? What does he have to do with this?"

"That's what Detective Brown should be asking _him_," Eleanor hissed. "And finding out why exactly he is alive and well in the hospital when he was with Blair, and she-"

Her voice caught, horribly.

She struggled to breathe out. "You should be talking to Charles," she repeated. Viscous.

Harold was looking at his wife in bewilderment. "Eleanor, you can't surely think-"

"I don't know _what_ to think," she snapped. That veneer had snapped, too, her eyes now raging. "But who else is to blame for this, if not Charles? My daughter," she went on, vehemently, "Did _not _commit suicide."

Detective Brown lowered his head. "I'm sorry," he said, softly, "To have taken up your time." He moved away from the grief stricken couple, past the European looking man who was still standing, uselessly, by the elevator. "But I'm afraid this investigation needs to be carried on. And we'll need more information later."

Eleanor Waldorf was already ignoring him.

Harold nodded, awkwardly. "Whatever we can do to help," he murmured. "We...want to know just as much as you, obviously."

Detective Brown gave him a brief nod in return - a look of understanding, silent gratitude - and left.

* * *

"At least I have a mommy, Bass," Carter sneered idly. "What happened to yours? Did she get sick of you too?"

Chuck's hands balled into fists, furious. But Carter Baizen, three years older than him, was already twice his height. He knew it would only end in embarrassment if he tried to take him on. It would never have stopped Nate; he would swing his fist regardless of the consequences. Act now, think later.

Sometimes Chuck wished he could just do the same.

But if there was one thing eight year-old Chuck Bass couldn't stand - had never been able to stomach - it was humiliation.

"Why don't you go jump off a bridge, Carter?"

Both boys glanced round to see the tiny brunette, scowling at the bigger boy. If Carter was twice Chuck's size, he was at least three times Blair's. He simply laughed, of course.

"Is you girlfriend sticking up for you now, Bass? Is she your bodyguard?"

He clearly thought it was hilarious.

Chuck could already feel the shame flushing his cheeks. "She's not my girlfriend," he muttered furiously.

Carter just laughed all the louder.

"Oh shut _up_, Carter," Blair snapped. "You sound like a hyena. You're such a moron."

Carter didn't shut up, of course, and he was still grinning nastily as he ruffled the two smaller children's hair. "I think it's _cute._ Chuck Bass doesn't have a mommy, so he has to hide behind his _girlfriend." _

Blair jerked away, outraged - he'd messed up her curls. She grabbed Chuck's hand. "Come on. Let's leave this idiot."

Carter crowed in delight. "Chuck and Blair, holding hands-"

Chuck dropped the little girl's hand instantly, like he'd been scalded.

"You're not my girlfriend," he hissed.

Blair stared at him for a second; and Chuck shoved her, hard. Without even thinking about it. He hadn't realised his own strength - that, or she hadn't been expecting it - and she stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

He felt a strange kick to his stomach as she hit the floor, a savage twist - and for a moment she was staring at him again, brown eyes wide, like she couldn't quite believe what had happened.

It had clearly hurt - he'd heard the air leave her lungs, a faint _umph_ that made him feel even sicker - but she didn't cry.

She was just staring, and he moved forwards instantly. He hadn't meant for that to happen. He hadn't meant it. Not that. "Blair-"

But she jerked away from him, struggling to her own feet. Her pale blue dress was stained with dirt; and it was then, looking at the patch, that her eyes filled with tears.

"You ruined my dress!"

He reached for her again, meaning to brush it off, show her it was only dust; and this time it was her turn to back away. Like she couldn't bear to touch him.

"Leave me alone," she spat, trying and failing to wipe, furiously, at the tears still gathering.

"Blair-"

"I hate you, Chuck Bass!" And with that final, accusing glare, she ran away.

Carter was positively roaring with laughter now. "I didn't think you had it in you, Bass."

Chuck stared at him.

Carter just grinned, slapping his back. "That was so funny."

Chuck decided there and then that he hated Carter Baizen with his whole soul. He wasn't an idiot, though; he played along. Forced a grin too. Because he was going to get his revenge. And his stomach was still churning from the look on Blair's face as she'd stared at him from the floor.

(Chuck did get his revenge, too; he'd acted like the older boy's biggest fan till he'd stolen every trick of the trade from him, and could play the game better than Carter Baizen himself - and then he was the only competition standing in Baizen's way. A rival that didn't disappear till Carter finally disappeared himself, renouncing his fortune for the lure of gambling in some third world country. Keep your enemies closer, after all. Bart had taught him that).

But that afternoon when he went back into the classroom, Blair was ignoring him. Only Blair could make such a point of it. She'd expressly forbidden Serena to speak to him, and Nate too. Not that Nate had listened. The blond boy shuffled over, looking guilty as he checked Blair wasn't watching.

"What did you do to Blair?" he whispered loudly. Subtlety had never been Nate Archibald's strong point.

Instead of answering, Chuck pushed him a piece of folded up paper. "Give this to her."

Nate's brow furrowed in confusion, but he did as told. Nate was complacent like that.

Chuck watched as Blair picked the note up, watched her read it. And he watched her rip it, neatly, in two. Tearing the _sorry _right down the middle. She dropped it promptly on the floor, fully aware of his eyes on her, and went back to her painting.

Chuck tried to burn hatred into the back of her neatly ribboned curls, but it didn't work. She didn't even look round. Not once. Blair was determined like that.

So, glowering, he picked up his own painting - and, spying his opportunity, once the ever messy Serena had to change her water for the hundredth time - he slid into her place, right next to Blair.

"That's Serena's seat," Blair snapped. "You can't steal it."

"I thought you weren't talking to me?" Chuck smirked, triumphantly.

He was rewarded with her scowl. "I'm not. You're disgusting."

"What are you painting?"

"None of your business."

He peered over her shoulder anyway, straining to make out the neat brush strokes. "A butterfly?" His lip curled in slight disdain. What a _Blair _thing to draw. "You should add purple," he observed, watching her try to decide the final colour.

She just glowered. "There's no purple paint, stupid."

He rolled his eyes in return. "That's because you have to mix blue and red. Don't you know anything?"

"I know I hate you," she answered crossly. "So go crawl back into your hole. I don't need your help."

"Just mix them," he insisted. He leaned over her - "Look-"

"No!" she squealed, trying to push him away. Her paints were all pristine in their individual pots; no way was she _mixing_ them.

"I'm telling you-"

She pushed him, again - pushed him so that his elbow caught her own pot of water, sending it flying. All over her painting.

"No!" she wailed. "Look what you did now!"

"That was your fault-"

"Chuck! Blair! What's going on over there?" They were both cut of by their stern-faced teacher. Her frown deepened as soon as she saw the mess on the table, looking between the two dark-haired children. "What happened?"

Blair shot Chuck a nasty look.

"Chuck_ ruined_ my painting. And he stole Serena's seat."

The teacher sighed. She'd had about enough of Chuck Bass' misdemeanors. "Chuck, time out. You can clean up this mess, and then go and stand in the corner."

Blair glared at him, waiting for him to protest.

But he didn't. Instead, fists bunched, he grabbed a wad of tissues and did as he was told.

"Blair, go and help Serena." The teacher was still looking at the boy, disapproving. "I'll have to talk to your dad this afternoon, Chuck. That's the third time this week."

"He won't even be picking me up," Chuck answered back darkly. "He never does."

Blair did think Miss Bell was a bit of an idiot, for not realising that yet. When did any of them ever get picked up by their parents? The school run was the nanny's job. Everyone knew that.

"Then I'll be sending a letter home," the teacher replied. Sharp. "I've had enough of this behavior, Chuck."

Blair did feel the faintest pricks of guilt, then. Foreign an emotion as that was. She knew Chuck could care less about Miss Bell telling him off. But Bart Bass was seriously scary. Still, she forced it back. She _hated _Chuck Bass.

Dorota was late that afternoon. Eleanor had forgotten, in the flurry of her latest fashion show, to inform the maid that Blair would be finishing an hour early. Chuck had to stay behind to clean up the rest of the paints, anyway, and wait while Miss Bell penned the letter to his father - his own nanny was having far too much fun with the doorman, and had forgotten about him altogether.

Blair was sitting alone on the bench outside, hands folded neatly in her lap, Mary Jane's not even close to touching the ground. She was prim as ever, watching as the last of the children spilled out of the gates.

Chuck approached her. He dropped himself down on the bench next to her.

She made a point of not looking at him.

Sighing, he removed a piece of paper from his bag. He placed it, silently, on the bench between them.

He knew Blair's curiosity would get the better of her; and, sure enough, she stole a glance. She stopped in surprise as she what it was.

"My painting," she squeaked, forgetting that she wasn't supposed to be speaking to him. She touched it, carefully. "You dried it?"

He rolled his eyes. "It was only water," he muttered.

Her fingers traced the edges, taking in the purple that he'd added. She had to admit that there was no fault with his handiwork; his painting was a flawless as her own. And the purple _did_ look good.

"It worked."

"I told you so," he grumbled back.

She couldn't stop the faintest of smiles from creeping in. Just because her painting was saved, of course.

"Well," she sniffed. "It's only fair. You were the one who ruined it."

"You were the one who spilled the water," he argued, frowning.

"That was you."

"Yeah," he scowled, "Because you pushed me!"

"You pushed me first," she snapped.

There was a silence.

He finally glanced at her. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

She folded her arms. "What was that?"

His eyes rolled, and he gave her a little nudge. "I _said_, I'm sorry." He swallowed. "Do you forgive me?"

She shot him a glance, like she thought he was making fun of her again - but, finally, looking at his face, she realised he was being sincere.

It made a soft, secret smile curl at her mouth. She didn't know why. "Yes," she admitted, quietly. Rolled her own eyes. "You better never ruin my dress again, though."

"I promise." She didn't know if he was being serious this time, because there was a faint grin on his mouth too, his head tilted in an expression she didn't quite understand.

Sometimes she knew Chuck Bass as well as she did herself, and other times she swore she would _never _understand him. She'd like to to chalk it up to him being a boy - but it wasn't even that. It was _him._

She picked up the painting, slipping it carefully into her own bag.

Something else occurred to him as she glanced over at him.

"Are you gonna get in trouble with your daddy?" She already knew the answer to that one.

He snorted. "Whatever." He didn't fool her for a second.

She reached over in silence, taking his bag before he could protest, nimble fingers searching its contents till she'd pulled out the envelope she was looking for.

He opened his mouth in surprise, but she'd already pushed it into her own bag.

"It must have got caught up," she shrugged. "With the painting."

He looked at her, properly, and she gave him a devious little smile. It was times like that when his stomach churned in an entirely different way from when he'd pushed her. Equally as unsettling, but nowhere near as unpleasant. He didn't quite know what it meant. He just smirked back at her.

"Miss Blair!" An anxious voice called out as Dorota appeared - "Miss Blair, I am so sorry - your mother, she forget to tell me-"

Blair jumped neatly to her feet, picking up her bag.

"Dorota," she instructed, "We need to take Chuck home."

The maid just nodded her head distractedly, relieved her charge was all right. "Yes, yes, Miss Blair. Fine. But we need to go now..."

Blair slipped her hand into Chuck's. And this time, he didn't push her away. She was too busy tugging him along, dictating orders to Dorota about her afternoon snack, to notice him holding on. Notice her hand curled in his, silently, as a strange warmth curled inside him.

* * *

Serena was charging through the hospital foyer in such a blind rush that she didn't realise someone was calling her name till a pair of hands caught her.

"Serena." She found herself face to face with a wild-eyed Nate, blond hair dark with sweat. "I've been calling you for the past hour."

She came to a stop. Nate. God. "Sorry," she managed. "My cell-phone was off, hospital-"

"What's going on?" His usual laid-back composure was clearly shaken to the core. "I was trying to call Chuck last night, but he wasn't picking up, so I stopped by the Waldorfs on my run this morning, to see if he was there - and it was empty. I mean, I think Eleanor was asleep, and Dorota - Dorota said some really messed up stuff." He stared at her, helpless. "Is it - true?"

She closed her eyes. "Yeah." She swallowed, hard. "Blair's dead, Nate."

Nate went completely still. "Oh God."

That was enough to start her crying, all over again - and he wrapped her in his arms numbly, automatically. Trying to soothe her when his own world was spinning out of control. _Blair? _

"Where's Chuck?" he whispered. "Dorota said...is it true? Was he with her?"

Serena stiffened, immediately. "Yeah."

He had to steady his own voice. "What the hell _happened_?"

"She was shot," Serena whispered back. "And Chuck says it was suicide."

"_What?" _

"I know." Her voice shook. "According to him, they were both going to _kill_ themselves. And apparently she was the only one who succeeded."

Nate was too floored, though, to recognise the tone of her voice. Any bitterness had passed entirely over his head as he could only stare.

"But-"

"But they weren't suicidal? I know."

Nate shook his head. He still wasn't getting it. "So what did happen?" Had someone else -

"I don't know, Nate. And, conveniently, Blair isn't around to tell us."

Finally, finally, Nate started getting it. He blinked. "What?" He shook his head again, like the cloud of confusion would lift and he could somehow make sense of this - "What do you mean?" He looked at Serena like he hardly recognised her. "Are you saying _Chuck-"_

"He was the only one with her, Nate!"

"Serena, are you listening to yourself? _Chuck_ shot Blair?"

"Blair would never have killed herself. You know that, Nate."

Nate only looked at her - because he didn't know what to think any more. Could he say that? Could he really claim to have known Blair that well? He'd always thought so. But maybe -

"Nate, you _know _she wouldn't! And - if you don't - you at least know Chuck was never suicidal. Can't you see he's lying?"

"Serena," Nate answered slowly. "There is no way that Chuck would ever shoot Blair. Can't _you _see that what you're saying makes no sense either?" He breathed out, moving away. "Where is he? I need to talk to him."

Serena stared in disbelief. "You're taking his side?"

Nate did a slight double take, at that - "What? Who said anything about sides?"

"This is just typical," Serena cried. "You believe everyone but me."

Nate ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, trying to stop her - because this was not about that. This had nothing to do with their constant argument (the only argument they ever had, really).

"Serena," he said, exhaustedly, "My best friend is in hospital. And he just lost his girlfriend. I need to see him."

Serena glared at him, tears spilling from her glittering blue eyes. "Yeah, Nate. And I just lost _my _best friend." Her voice was loud, desperate. Helpless.

"Look," he sighed, more softly now - but she pushed him off. Tall frame still shaking with anger. He was about to say something else, but Lily appeared at that moment.

With a grateful glance at Nate, she took her daughter's arm.

"Come on, sweetheart," she murmured gently. "Let's go home."

"No-"

"Serena," Lily sighed. "Come."

She nodded Nate in the direction of Chuck's room, shepherding her daughter away and into a waiting taxi.

* * *

Harold moved quietly into his daughter's bedroom. He'd sent Eleanor to bed with a bottle of Valium, and Roman, still exhausted from jet lag, was asleep in the guest room. He'd wanted Harold to join him; but sleep was the last thing Harold could manage.

Blair's room still smelled faintly, of her. Traces of her perfume and shampoo, and that sweet scent she'd never quite lost from childhood. He remembered that delicious baby smell she'd had - his gorgeous baby girl, nestled so tinily in the crook of his arm.

Her silk comforter was neatly made, pillows fluffed. Dorota's work, presumably. The powder blue walls were dark in the shadows, but he couldn't bring himself to switch the main lights on. His gaze swept over the neatly ordered books on her desk; all her homework, spread out in colour coded stacks, her flawless handwriting covering the pages. Her laptop lay open on the desk; he recognised the site she was always poring over, though it still meant as little to him as it ever had. Gossip Girls, or something.

Blair had tried to explain that it was something like a social networking site - harmless enough. He remembered all those conversations he'd half filtered out, entertained enough just to hear her chattering away, even if the names and places meant next to nothing to him. His daughter had never failed to enchant and amuse him.

Her walk-in wardrobe filled the other wall; he moved closer, hand running briefly over the rows and rows of colour co-ordinated dresses. Shoes. Harold Waldorf always bought his princess whatever outfit she desired. Daddy's credit card could never be used too sparingly, however much Eleanor insisted he spoiled her. He only had one daughter - and if he wanted to spoil her, he would. That had always been his answer.

There was nothing here, he realised blankly. Nothing here that pointed to any sign of suicide. The detective had to be wrong. How could someone who put that much dedication into her wardrobe even have time to think about killing herself?

How could his little girl even contemplate - death?

His eyes pricked with more tears as he gazed at the notice board on her other wall; filled with little notes in Blair's handwriting, calendars and postcards - and photos, carefully pinned in place. Blair skiing, Blair lounging by the pool in the Hamptons. Blair and Serena, dark hair entwined with blonde as the two girls laughed out at the camera. And the four of them; Chuck's arms wrapped, tight, around Blair's waist as Serena grabbed her other arm, Nate ruffling Blair's hair as Serena jumped on his back, goofy grin splitting her face; and BlairandChuck, the entity Harold had never even imagined separate. No one had, not for so long.

There were notes from Chuck pinned to the notice board too, he realised. He only figured it out from the small CB inscribed on each one. They were all far shorter and less rambling than the ones from Serena - and a lot of them were phrases that simply made no sense to Harold. Clearly private jokes between the two of them - one, for instance, simply read: _I tried. Butterflies won't die. _

It was normal though, wasn't it? For there to be elements of his daughter's life that he didn't know everything about? He'd always trusted that his daughter was a good girl, and would do the right thing. Blair had her head screwed on properly. She knew what she wanted, and she went for it.

He'd never had to worry about her. Not once.

(Well, once. But that was over with now. Long gone. An episode of the past). Wasn't it?

His eyes shot, briefly, to her bathroom door. Yes. Long gone.

He ran his hand over his daughter's coverlet, tears still falling. He stopped, briefly, as he felt a lump; and, frowning, he lifted the duvet. Twined around her pillow was a length of silky patchwork that it took him a second to recognise.

But really, he'd seen it on the boy enough times.

He ran the material through his hands as he gazed at the photo right next to her bed. The same scarf was wrapped around the dark haired young man in the picture. He'd seen the picture before, briefly; it had to have been taken at school, Chuck in his uniform as he leaned against the railings, gazing into some spot in the distance.

Harold studied his profile. Those dark eyes and sculpted cheekbones, the pursed, haughty mouth.

Tried to look for any hint that the boy in the photo might have been suicidal. And, when that failed - capable of murder. It didn't tell him any of those things, though. It didn't tell him anything.

Just that his daughter had adored him enough for him to be the last thing she saw before she went to bed each night. Which he'd known already, anyway.

* * *

Chuck knew he should have been glad to see Nate. And in a way, he was. How could he ever not be glad to see his best friend?

When his best friend stared at him like a lost puppy, that eternal look of bewilderment as he questioned him, trying to make some sense of what had happened.

Nate hadn't pushed too long. Once Chuck told him exactly the same as he'd told everyone else, he seemed to sense not to push any more. Not that Nate had ever been good at hiding his emotions - Chuck could tell he was still bursting with questions. (Questions Chuck couldn't, wouldn't answer). Nate have given in, and Chuck was grateful. He should have known he could count on Nate to simply accept it.

It was a relief that Eric was still there, too; it meant the two of them could talk, and it wasn't as obvious that Chuck wasn't saying anything other than a cursory comment. It wasn't like he paid much attention to those comments, either.

She could always tell in a second when he wasn't listening. He was normally flawless at pretending to act interested - but God forbid he should ever pretend in Blair Waldorf's presence. She expected a hundred percent attention at all times. (And he gave it, but only to her).

"So...when are you getting out of here, buddy?"

"I have to see a shrink," Chuck answered without humor, even as his lip twisted.

Nate looked decidedly awkward at that. "Oh. Man."

"Convince them I'm not going to slit my wrists the second I get near a razor."

There was a long silence.

Eric was the first one to laugh; even though there was nothing remotely funny about this. Nate blinked in uneasy bewilderment - but Chuck got it. Eric _would _find that funny. But then he was probably the only person who would. Except her, maybe.

Nate never did get gallows humor.

He managed a weak smile, and Chuck almost felt sorry for him.

There was a knock at the door at that moment. Nate had never looked more grateful for anything.

The doctor who'd been treating Chuck throughout his stay popped his head round. "Hi, Charles." Chuck made no attempt to correct his name (he was thinking clearly now, and he knew why he could never be _him _again). "I just wanted to tell you, I've booked you an appointment with Dr. Daniels at midday. She should be along in about an hour."

Dr. Daniels.

The shrink.

Chuck's face didn't even register a reaction. "Fine."

The doctor nodded. "I'll leave you to it."

There was another silence once he'd left.

"So," Eric broke it. "What's the betting this Dr. Daniels isn't any younger than a hundred? I swear any psych ward makes it their mission to only employ old dragons..."

This time, even Nate managed a laugh.

Even though it still wasn't remotely funny.


	4. Chapter 4

"Charles."

Dr. Daniels wasn't a dragon. She was under a hundred, too; a tall, willowy woman with long red hair and a cool gaze. Chuck could usually read people in a glance - he would've said she ate organically and did yoga. And her office would be immaculate, her schedule efficiently organised and packed to the brim. She had that same cool, soft voice.

"Is Charles all right, or do you go by Charlie? My son's a Charlie."

This earned a faint snort from the young man.

Not a Charlie, definitely.

Dr. Daniels folded herself into the chair opposite him.

"So, how are you feeling?" She regarded him, calm, over the top of her glasses.

"Great."

His answer was blank; like he couldn't even be bothered to load his voice with sarcasm. He didn't add anything else, and the silence stretched out. It didn't seem to affect him in the slightest.

She nodded, glancing down at his notes. The same thought was probably going through her mind too. This was going to be a long hour.

* * *

Bart was ending a call in the foyer when Lily approached him. Nate had taken Eric out for lunch, with the instructions to then deliver him home to Serena. Obviously, neither of them would be going to school. Lily just hoped that her daughter would relax at home. She'd suggested take-out and an easy movie, which had been met with Serena's furious glare of disbelief. But the girl wouldn't be doing anyone any good raging like she was.

Lily had, at least, stopped her from going to the Waldorfs. Serena's intentions may have been good, but Lily was sure the last thing Eleanor needed to cope with now was a grief-stricken teen.

"That was work," Bart informed her curtly. "I've managed to rearrange all my afternoon meetings."

Lily just nodded. She slipped her hands onto her husband's shoulders, trying to ease the tension in them.

"He's in with the psychiatrist now - we just need to wait for her verdict. Then we can decide next step."

Lily raised a brow. "The next step?" she prompted.

"He's not staying in that hospital room. The service here is appalling; it can't be doing him any good." Bart was already scrolling through his blackberry as he spoke.

"Bart," she ventured, at last. "They may not let him go home right away."

"I know." His tone was brusque. "I was thinking of the Ostroff Centre."

Lily's eyes widened. But then, it made sense. Hadn't she done the same thing with her own son?

"He needs privacy," she agreed, gently. "And it is an excellent facility." Still, she paused. "What if he doesn't want-"

"He's already proved he's not capable of making his own decisions." The answer was little more than a snap. "I'll sign for involuntary admission, if necessary."

Lily nodded. Because she knew it _was_ necessary, however much it broke her heart. Not Charles.

_"_Do you..." her voice shook, a little. "Do you think he really is, then?" Suicidal.

She'd heard Bart earlier, after all, insisting the opposite - and she knew how impossible the idea was to even fathom. Not just for your own child - but because it was _Charles_. She was having a hard enough time grasping it herself.

Bart was silent for a moment.

"What I know," he said, finally, "Is that he's just lost the one person he ever gave a damn about." His voice was hard. "I don't know what happened last night - but the boy in that room is not my son. I don't think he even knows who he is. He needs to be monitored. I don't _know _what he's capable of any more."

The words sent a chill down Lily's spine. And the worst part was, she knew they were true. Regardless of whether or not they could believe what Chuck had told them - a Chuck without Blair, now, was not a Chuck anyone could trust.

She nodded, once. "I can call the Ostroff now."

* * *

"Tell me about Blair, Charles."

She watched the boy in front of her. His face remained entirely rigid. Blank. And he still didn't answer, staring instead at the wall. The most she'd received, for all of her questions, was a monosyllabic reply. If that.

"You knew her a long time, didn't you?" she pushed.

"My whole life."

His voice was empty. Stating a fact and nothing more.

He didn't elaborate, obviously.

"What was she like?"

More silence.

Then, finally, "She was Blair."

He wasn't even being deliberately obtuse - because how could he explain it to her? How could you explain knowing someone better than you knew yourself? Every dream and every plan; every fear and flaw and weakness, every inflection of her laugh and shade of her eyes, from the sound of her step to the beat of her heart?

How could anyone convey the scent of Dior and jasmine and just a hint of vanilla - that undeniable _Blair _scent underneath all the sweetness of her shampoo and body wash? All the incarnations of Blair - the curl of a smirk at her lips, the flush of her cheeks in outrage, the curve of a real grin and two dark eyes that told you everything you needed to know in a single glance. Blair, with her headbands and high heels and plaid skirts; sitting on the Met steps, elbowing her way through a crowd, screaming at her minions - flinching at another comment from her mother, another glance skimming her in favour of Serena, even as her smile stayed glued in place.

How was he supposed to describe the way her tiny frame fit his, her waist into his arm and her hand in his as they danced, dark eyes just below his own; the way her head slotted into the hollow of his neck, the feel of her soft curls under his chin; her slender fingers enveloped in his and the curve of her back and hips against his chest and legs between silk sheets?

He couldn't.

You couldn't sum Blair Waldorf up in a word or phrase - how was this _shrink _stupid enough to think that you could?

"How did you feel about her?"

And at that, finally, he just gave her a look. This doctor who was supposed to have a list of qualifications. Blair had told him enough times - usually when she thought it would annoy him, and always with that adorable scowl, roll of her eyes - that he was practically _begging_ for a psychiatric case study. It had always made him laugh. _You're heinous. I mean it, Bass - you are disgusting. _He always accepted it for the compliment it was - a compliment because it came from her, always with that faint twitch of her mouth. Because they both knew the truth.

He could pay for all the therapy in the world, and it would be nothing as long as he had her.

(And he didn't have her now, and it was still nothing.)

"Anything you can tell me," Dr. Daniels urged gently. "A word, maybe? You loved her."

Silence.

"What was she to you?"

His best friend, his toughest critic, his closest ally and his every desire combined into one 98 pound doe-eyed, bon-mot tossing, label-whoring package of girly evil. Blair Waldorf kicked him till he cared, wrapped her fierce arms round him just to hold him together, and pressed her nails in till he bled just to make sure he never let go.

And Blair Waldorf wasn't coming back. Trying to explain what she was to someone he didn't give two shits about wasn't going to bring her back.

He regarded the wall in silence.

"She's gone."

The psychiatrist waited, but nothing else came.

* * *

Serena had finally calmed down enough - just for now - to lie down. She wasn't giving in. But she _was _drained, so she'd eventually succumbed a temporary respite.

She, Eric and Nate were stretched on her bed, gazing at the ceiling. Their attempt at watching a movie sat long forgotten.

Eric must have fallen asleep at some point; his head curled on his sister's shoulder as his muffled breathing disturbed the air next to her. She tilted a little so that she was glancing across at Nate. He glanced back, giving her a small smile that was barely there. His eyes were a million miles away.

"Nate?"

Her voice was a sigh in the silence.

"Yeah."

"I don't want to fight any more," she whispered.

He gazed at her, and she didn't think she'd ever seen those blue eyes more weary. "I know," he answered, softly. Just like always - their fights may have repeated, but they were never long. Because when could Nate ever stay mad at Serena?

They were silent for a while. Nate longed for a joint - longed to drift away on a cloud that might numb any of this. But he couldn't even bring himself to make one.

"Do you remember when we used to camp out here?"

The four of them, making tents from Serena's bedspread, limbs entwined on the mattress as they nudged and poked each other. Serena's high-pitched squeals mingled with Chuck's low laugh, Blair's giggle and Nate's steady chuckle.

"Yeah," Nate smiled, at last. "'Cause Blair always refused to go camping for real."

It made Serena smile faintly too - "Do you remember that time, at Camp Suisse, when we were supposed to leave the cabins for a night in the woods?"_Not a chance in hell, _Blair had declared - nine year-old Blair who never cursed. Serena's gaze flickered up to the ceiling, still grinning even as her eyes stung. "And Blair told everyone she'd seen a bear, so they had to cancel it?"

Blair and Chuck. It was a ChuckandBlair scheme, and Serena had to know that as well as Nate.

But he forced a small laugh, instead. "Are there even bears in Switzerland?"

"Probably not," Serena laughed too. "But she-" _they_ "-convinced the counsellors anyway." Her smile faded a bit. "We always used to tell her camping here was nothing like the real thing."

"Yeah, and then-" (after Chuck convinced her, but Nate didn't say it) "-She stole Eleanor's perfume. To make it smell like flowers, or something."

"Because it was called Rose," Serena laughed. "And I spilt it all over the bed. She was so mad."

Nate threw her a little glance. "We all were," he reminded her, playfully. "It stank for days. We had to relocate to Eric's room."

"And she made us all go with her to buy a replacement. Remember?" Planned and executed with typical Blair Waldorf precision.

"How could I forget?" he murmured. "We were searching for _hours. _I couldn't face going back into a department store for a long time after that."

Serena managed another laugh. "She kept telling me off. Because I kept getting distracted."

(It had been Chuck who'd found a bottle in the end. When Blair finally got to the brink of losing it - _you don't understand! My mother's going to kill me! There will be no more Blair Waldorf! - _he'd rolled his eyes and marched off to pay the store assistant to check every database till the brand was located. He'd reappeared, bottle and smirk in hand, to a - by this point hysterical - Blair, and told them all, quite smugly, that they were idiots for not thinking of it sooner. Blair had snapped out of it long enough to seize the bottle and throw him a kick for good measure, even as her eyes shone with sheer relief.)

Serena's eyes were shining now, with tears again. "She's the only person that ever kept me on track."

She was the only person that ever kept any of them on track. Nate didn't know what to say; he reached out, blindly, and took Serena's hand. But it was hard to stop her crying when his own eyes were suddenly prickling too.

"She can't have killed herself, Nate. She just can't."

Nate didn't (couldn't) answer; he squeezed her hand instead, letting her bury her face in him as she sobbed. He held her, like that, unable to do anything else till the sobs eventually subsided and he drifted off into his own, equally fitful sleep.

* * *

"Why did you want to kill yourself, Charles?"

Silence.

"We had a pact," the boy answered, hollow.

"Why?" Dr Daniels probed. "Why were you unhappy?"

"We had a pact," he repeated blankly. When what he meant was - _because she wanted to die._

"Do you feel the same way now?"

And there it was - the question she really wanted to know. The only reason she was really there. She could have saved them a lot of time and asked him that to begin with.

"No."

"How do you feel now?"

"Much better," he sneered. "Obviously." But there wasn't even real venom in his voice. There was still nothing.

She ignored the sarcasm. "Do you still want to end your life?"

Silence.

"Charles?"

He merely lifted his shoulders, lip curling. "Honestly?" he said slowly, twistedly. Almost a laugh. "It makes no difference."

Hadn't he already died anyway?

* * *

"Mr. and Mrs. Bass?"

Bart was already on his feet as the two doctors entered.

"Dr. Daniels has finished her assessment. We've conferred," he glanced at the psychiatrist, who nodded, "And reached a unanimous decision. I'm afraid we'll need to keep Charles under observation. We believe he's still at high risk."

Lily closed her eyes, silently.

Bart nodded. "Very well." His voice was crisp. "I've arranged for him to be transferred to the Ostroff centre tonight."

The doctors exchanged a glance.

"You'll need one of our staff to sign-"

Bart already had the form. He handed it over without a word. Then, as the other man gazed at it - "Well?"

"The Ostroff Centre is a good choice," Dr. Daniels stated. She glanced at the other doctor again, nodding. "Hopefully Charles will get the help he needs there."

Bart handed them a pen.

"You agree to involuntary admission?" the doctor confirmed, one last time.

Bart didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

So, steadily, the form was signed.

* * *

It had been Serena's idea to play spin the bottle, of course. At nine years of age it was still a relatively novel idea - on the Upper East Side, anyway. They'd all seen it acted out in enough movies. Serena was the only one who would never deem it beneath her. And because of that, it couldn't be beneath any of them.

Georgina Sparks had soon declared the brief pecks across the circle tame, though. They weren't even proper kisses. She was the one who suggested, with a malicious glint in her eye (even at nine) seven minutes in heaven. They'd all glanced, with varying degrees of trepidation, at Serena's walk-in closet.

Serena had leapt on the idea instantly, always eager to try new things. They all knew Blair was loath to agree with anything Georgina suggested. She'd been furious Georgina had even invited herself in the first place. But if Serena said yes, Blair didn't really have an option. And Chuck knew that it would also set her own plans into motion.

Blair had been looking at Nate from beneath her lashes for a few months now. The attraction was obvious - Nate, with his golden smile and wide blue eyes, was every little girl's fantasy. A prince straight out of Blair's fairytale book. (Which she _so _didn't read any more. God.) She would sneak glances at him every time she thought no one was looking, flushing if his name was even mentioned. Let alone if he talked to her. Chuck would bet anything she'd written his name in every one of her binders. _Blair hearts Nate._ _Blair Archibald._

He thought it was pretty funny. And what made it even more amusing was the fact that Nate was, as ever, entirely oblivious. Like right now - she'd practically_ frozen_ when Nate had chosen to sit next to her. Chuck was pretty sure that Nate had picked the spot without thinking - but he knew it was a big. deal. in Waldorf land.

Chuck watched each time she positively_ flinched_ when Nate's knee brushed hers. Hardly daring to breathe. And it happened quite a lot, too - Nate could never sit still for very long.

He didn't think Blair Waldorf had any idea quite how hilarious she was.

"Your go first, Natie," Serena squealed now.

Blair went very still.

Nate leaned forwards, casual as ever, to take a turn at the empty glass bottle.

Chuck knew exactly what she was thinking.

Seven minutes in heaven meant proper kissing. Their first proper kiss - for all of them except Georgina, possibly. (Well, maybe Blair and Serena had experimented. Something about the idea of that - picturing the two of them - did funny things to him).

If the bottle landed on Blair now, though, then Nate would be hers. She would have the claim of first kiss. Chuck could tell exactly what was going through her mind. According to Waldorf logic, the magical first kiss was everything. Nate would _have_ to be hers after that. If everything else was a big deal, then First Kiss was the ultimate.

They all watched as it spun, trajectory gradually slowing. By the time it got to its final revolution, Chuck was waiting for Blair to pass out. She'd literally stopped breathing. It inched closer and closer to a stop, turning gradually to Blair...and then passed her, slowly, to land on Serena.

Blair looked visibly stricken.

Nate grinned, sheepishly, glancing over at the blonde. "Looks like it's you."

Serena giggled and flicked her hair, and Chuck wondered if Blair was about to throw up. She seemed close enough.

He wanted to tell her that First Kiss seriously _wasn't _that big a deal, but he knew it wasn't true. Not for her. It never would be. In the eyes of Blair Waldorf, fate had snatched away her chance to be the future Mrs. Archibald. And, surprise surprise - had given it to Serena instead. He knew that was all she'd be thinking.

"So. Shall we go?"

Serena was still giggling as she got to her feet, taking Nate by the hand. Blair watched in silence as the golden couple disappeared into the closet. She wouldn't cry, Chuck knew that much. Not in front of anyone else. She'd probably go home and sob for hours into her pillow, surrounded by shredded Blair Archibalds. There was something strangely heartbreaking about the image that really should have made him laugh. Were it any other girl, it definitely would have.

He rolled his eyes. Damn Blair Waldorf.

Always caring about the stupid stuff he didn't give a toss about, so he somehow ended up caring too. And he really, really didn't want to. Or even need to.

He leant over to give her a wicked nudge. "Wanna find Serena's diary and read all her secrets?"

Her scowl was instant, even if she _had_ looked for a split second like she was on the verge of grinning. "Don't you dare, Bass!" Loyal to Serena even when the other girl had clearly broken her heart.

"Spoilsport."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I _know_ all her secrets anyway."

Georgina, who had been following their exchange with increasing displeasure, gave a disdainful snort at that. "No you don't."

This time, Blair's glare was real. "I do. I'm her best friend."

"Bet she tells me more than she tells you." Georgina smirked. "You're probably crap at keeping secrets. I bet you tell them all to your teddies."

Blair's nose wrinkled at the rude word. You weren't _allowed _to swear. It was crass. And just unnecessary.

Georgina saw, and smirked again.

"You're not her best friend," Blair retorted nastily. "You're just the girl who keeps barging in where she's not wanted. Serena only puts up with you because her mom is friends with yours."

Georgina's face blackened.

She suddenly reached over - and Chuck was fairly sure she was about to pull Blair's hair, or something equally nasty - so he stuck his leg out, tripping her.

She lost her balance, and he and Blair both laughed.

"Chill out, Georgie," he drawled. "You don't want to hurt yourself."

Her face twisted, viciously, and she probably would have done something worse - had the closet door not sprung open at that very moment. Serena bounded out first, hair tousled, and Nate followed - grinning from ear to ear, cheeks glowing.

Chuck couldn't help but smirk. "Good seven minutes, Archibald?"

He was rewarded with a glower from Blair and an even bigger grin from Nate.

"A gentleman doesn't tell," he laughed - and Serena joined in, taking the seat next to Blair instead with Nate on her other side.

Blair folded her arms, but forced a smile and didn't say anything.

An oblivious Serena elbowed her, still giggling, till the brunette's smile was eventually, reluctantly, coaxed into a real one.

Georgina leant forwards with a savage grin. Her look at the two girls was one of sheer loathing. Chuck knew that Blair could feel as threatened as she liked by Georgina - because Serena was always distracted by something new - but, at the end of the day, it would always be Blair for the blonde. Even if it took her a while to remember sometimes. And Georgina knew it too. Which was why she hated Blair so much.

"My turn," she sneered.

She twisted the bottle, hard - and it landed on Blair.

Serena started laughing at that. So did Nate.

Georgina's smile was victorious now. Chuck and Blair, however, were silent.

"Spin it again," Blair insisted.

But Georgina shook her head, singing, "Rules are rules."

Whatever she had planned for the smaller girl in the darkness of the closet, it definitely wasn't kissing.

Chuck wasn't a hero. Obviously. But, ok, he defended his own. And he couldn't let Blair go into that closet with the psychopath sitting opposite him. Even he wasn't that sick.

He gave the bottle a swift, subtle push. "Actually," he intervened - "It's pointing at me."

Nate's brow furrowed in confusion, and Serena went to protest.

Blair, meanwhile, was looking at him in surprise. And Georgina in calculation. Her gaze moved between the two of them, resting on Chuck again. "All right then," she gloated, at last. "Chuckie. Let's go."

Blair didn't look _remotely_ happy with that outcome. She wasn't sure why, but the idea of Chuck going after Georgina was somehow even worse than Nate and Serena. Maybe because it no sense. And because Chuck had cheated - why did he move the bottle? Did he _want _to kiss Georgina? She knew one thing for sure - she didn't want Georgina kissing him. Not with her disgusting mouth. "But-"

Georgina was already on her feet, though. "Come on Chuckles."

Blair tried to grab Chuck's sleeve to stop him, but he was too fast for her. He didn't even look at her as he followed Georgina into the closet.

The door shut and she sat there, feeling physically sick.

Nate and Serena had started giggling about something else, but she wasn't paying any attention. What was Georgina doing in there? What was she doing to him? One half of her wanted to march over there, fling the door open and drag him out - save him, surely - and the other half was still struggling to work out if Chuck actually_ liked_ Georgina. And that was ten times worse. The thought that he might not _want_ her to save him.

_Why _had he moved that bottle?

When the door finally opened - and it felt like an absolute lifetime - Blair was almost too scared to look at him. Just for a moment. But curiosity won, as always. She lifted her eyes to his, strangely horrified at the though that she might see a grin like she'd seen on Nate's face.

Chuck's expression was unreadable, though.

He resumed his former place in silence. Blair realised, with a twist in her stomach, that his collar was turned up. Like someone had grabbed it. And his shirt was - _untucked_.

Georgina's grin was one of sheer satisfaction as she took her seat opposite Blair.

"So," Serena teased. "How was it?"

Blair actually wanted to hit her best friend. Mainly because she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer, though. Her eyes flickered to Chuck's, but his gaze back was cool as ever. Silent and still impossible to read.

Georgina just laughed. She gave her hair a little toss. "It was nothing special. I prefer my men with a bit more experience."

That made Serena laugh uproariously, of course - Blair was pretty sure Georgina had just stolen that from some trashy movie. Or an adult. Hello, Georgina was _nine._

Chuck gave a snort, but didn't say anything else.

At some point later on, he excused himself to go the bathroom. Blair watched him go in silence. Still with that weird, sick feeling in her stomach. She barely even noticed the smirk that still hadn't left Georgina's face. And, finally, she'd had enough.

She jumped to her own feet. "I'm just going to get a drink."

She was already moving into the hallway before any of them could stop her. She closed the door behind her, Serena and Nate's laughter disappearing behind the paneled oak.

She realised her heart was actually thumping as she strode down the corridor - ignoring the way to the kitchen to head straight for the bathroom. That shortness of breath she usually only got when she was angry. Was she angry?

Yes, she decided. And why shouldn't she be? Chuck had - he'd _lowered _himself. And he hadn't even explained himself. Didn't she have a right to know if he liked Georgina? And how _could _he?

She was still seething as she waited outside the bathroom.

Chuck opened the door, and found himself face to face with a pair of furious brown eyes. Before he could protest, a pair of tiny hands was pushing him back into the room.

"Why did you push the bottle?" Blair demanded.

He rolled his eyes, managing to regain his balance. Difficult when she was mere seconds from him. "Jeez, Waldorf," he grumbled. "No need to attack me. What's your problem?"

Her voice rose. "Do you like Georgina?"

He looked at her in incredulity. "Do I like the crazy person?"

But she didn't back down, lifting her chin. "Well?"

He could hardly believe he even had to answer that. "Uh, earth to Waldorf? Of course I don't." He stared at her. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Her voice had risen several octaves in pitch, and she realised in horror that there were dangerous tears pricking at her eyes. Blair Waldorf was not about to cry. Not in front of Chuck Bass. "You're the one who was just _kissing _Georgina Sparks," she yelped. She would not cry. Because she was _mad. _"For seven minutes! You gave her your first kiss!"

He managed to roll his eyes again, but only because he could see she was on the verge of crying and had no idea how to deal with that. He knew how much of a big deal First Kiss was to her, but why the heck did she care about _his?_

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'd rather not be reminded, thanks."

"Why?" she demanded. "I bet you enjoyed it. Didn't you?"

He was about to shoot back with something sarcastic, but something about the way her voice faltered that split second, right at the end, stopped him. He looked at her.

"No," he said, exasperated. "As _if. _She's disgusting. I just spent the past five minutes trying to wash her taste out of my mouth." That stopped her for a second - and he went on, pointedly, "She practically attacked me. I had to fight her off."

There was a pause. "Oh." Then her eyes narrowed again. "But...why did you push the bottle?" She studied him, trying to work it out.

And this time it was his turn to fall silent. "Does it matter?" he muttered at last. She was generally good at figuring out Chuck's facial expressions, even if no one else was - but it took even her a moment to recognise this one. Embarrassment.

She decided to drop it for now - she'd puzzle over it later. The important thing was that he didn't like Georgina.

"Well," she said quietly. "I'm sorry your first kiss was ruined."

This gained her another eye roll. "It's really not that big a deal, Waldorf."

Her gaze was immediate, heated. "It _is," _she retorted fiercely.

He just gave her a glance of amusement. (It was only a big deal because of how much it mattered to her. Not that he'd ever tell her that).

All she read was his skepticism, though, and stamped her foot a little. "It is a _huge_ deal," she insisted. "I won't let Georgina Sparks be your first kiss."

"Bit late for that now," he answered wryly. Only to provoke her, though.

Her eyes suddenly shot up, gaze locking with his. And then, suddenly, there was no space between them at all, and her lips were on his.

His first reaction was shock - because, what? Blair was _kissing _him? - and then, at the same time, her mouth on his. She latched on, determined, and his hands brushed her. She tasted...strange. And familiar, all at once. She tasted like Blair. Like her fruity lip gloss, and a different kind of sweetness that was almost like the way she smelt. Her lips were warm and soft against his, with the faintest hint of the lemonade they'd both been drinking earlier. Sour and sweet and strangely delicious.

He kissed her back, feeling the softness of her dress under his hands. He could feel her eyelashes flutter closed as she melted into him, and his own eyes drifted, too, as his tongue tangled, tentatively, with hers.

They'd both seen kisses in movies. Carter Baizen, with an idle laugh, had told him what to do in graphic detail. But he wasn't thinking about that at all as he kissed her back.

When they finally pulled apart, both of their breathing was caught.

She gazed up at him, brown eyes wide.

Still, she managed to lift her head. "There," she pronounced. "_That _was you first kiss. Georgina doesn't count."

He was still staring at her. There was that weird fluttery feeling again, a tingling that spread to his fingertips. "Waldorf," he said, slowly. "You just gave me _your_ first kiss."

He was half expecting her to pull away in horror as the penny dropped, but she remained where she was. She actually placed her hands on her hips. "I thought you said it wasn't a big deal?"

His mouth twitched. Only to cover up how dumbfounded he still was. "Well," he smirked. Still trying to cover it up. His voice stuck a little, though. "Maybe it is."

Her mouth curved into a triumphant smile. (Her cheeks were still flushed, though). "Yes. It is."

When they got back to the room, Georgina was still gloating. It gradually faded, though, as she realised it was having no effect on them. Enraged, her eyes shot between the two of them, trying to figure it out.

Neither of them said anything.

Nate and Serena remained quite oblivious. But she could _tell _they were both smiling, underneath all of it. A secret, shared smile that none of her digs could even dent.

Something had changed.

And it was something not even Georgina Sparks had any power to prevent.

* * *

"I'm not going."

His voice was still blank, but it was the closest anyone had seen him get to expressing an actual opinion. To even caring about something.

Bart regarded him evenly. "You don't have a choice, Charles. It's not your decision any more."

"I'm not leaving."

"Charles," Lily attempted. "I know this is hard, but it's for the best-"

He spared his stepmother a glance, like he didn't even see her. "I'm not leaving."

Bart frowned. "You're telling me you're comfortable in this place?" he asked with clear disbelief.

Chuck was silent.

It took Bart a moment to figure it out. When he did, his brow stilled. He looked at the boy quietly. "You can't see her, Charles. They're not going to release her body till after autopsy. These things can take up to a month." If he sounded cold, it was only because he knew. And under his impassive expression, it was killing him. It had been a different hospital that he'd refused to leave almost eighteen years ago, a different woman that he'd refused to let go.

He'd seen the flicker in the boy's eyes. Chuck didn't respond, though, other than to repeat, "I'm not going."

"Do you want to be dragged out of here in a straight jacket?" Lily visibly flinched - but Bart ignored her, because he didn't know what tactic to use other than harshness. "Because that's what will happen. I'm telling you now."

They both saw Chuck's fingers tighten, involuntarily, on his sheets. His eyes were burning. "I'm _not_ leaving."

"Charles-" Bart started, hard - but Lily stopped him.

"You won't be allowed to see her for now anyway, Charles," she half pled, the closest any Rhodes woman got to begging. Only because it was Chuck. "But I'm sure once they've finished you can come back. You'll get to say goodbye, I promise you. I will make sure of it."

Chuck just stared at her for a moment. She had no idea if she'd got through to him or not. His eyes returned, gradually, to nothing. Something that wasn't even there.

"Charles?"

He didn't look at his father, and when he finally spoke, it was low and sardonic. "Like you said, dear old dad...It's not like I have a choice."

* * *

_You've reached Detective James Brown's office. Please leave a message after the tone. _

"Hi James. It's Harry, from pathology. We've got the notes from the first examination of Blair Waldorf's body. I know you wanted to take a look, so we if we could meet at some point tomorrow morning, I can run them over with you. There's something that might be of interest, too. Give me a call to let me know when's good..."

* * *

Chuck woke up, sweating, and reached blindly in the dark for something that wasn't there.

It took him a moment to remember that the room was empty. The comfortable bed was cold, and the well-furnished, tranquil room silent. He turned his face into the soft pillow, shaking, and clenched his teeth to prevent the howl from escaping into the suffocating darkness.

* * *

**A/N - Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews! Please don't hate me for the bleakness of this chapter...**


	5. Chapter 5

Chuck knew, vaguely, what life was like at Ostroff - thanks to Eric. The muted wallpaper. The jello. The stream of counsellors. Pills. Afternoon exercises. There was a lot of talk about feelings, of course. Words like suicide and death weren't allowed.

Eric, Nate, and Lily visited almost every day. It should have been the highlight of his days - but he was too numb to even wish they wouldn't. Because they _tried _so hard. And it was easier when he could just ignore the barrage of strangers that didn't know him. Take the meds and sleep.

Maybe he could tell his numerous shrinks that all hope wasn't lost, if he still had the capacity to care about not hurting his family. But it was just that it was exhausting, more than anything. He didn't even have the heart to tell them there was no point.

He was sure he'd seen enough psychiatrists now to fulfill all of Blair's criteria.

Serena was always 'busy', but he could care less. At least there were some small mercies. It was Bart's visits that he really hated. His father had been to see him twice so far. In some ways it was easy, sitting in silence. Bart wasn't one for small talk. Once he'd checked, rigidly, that his son was doing everything he was supposed to, that was that.

What was hard was remembering how much Chuck had used to care. Bart's opinion had once meant everything to him - and now he just looked at the boy like a stranger. And Chuck saw, and it didn't mean anything to him. His father was right - he _was_ a stranger. Just like he'd always promised her - and that was what really drove it home.

It had been before, obviously. That same Hamptons trip as Serena's sixteenth. If he'd had to hazard a guess, it would have been that Serena had cluelessly said something to her. They'd been at a bar when the girl behind the counter had made eyes at him. Blair, watching, had bit comment about her legs (too long), and her hair (too shiny). He was used to Blair's paranoia around tall blondes, and had smirkingly brushed it off. She'd made a point of kissing him, hard, and he'd tried not to be too turned on or amused by the appearance of his girlfriend's possessive side. Blair in a jealous rage? It wasn't easy.

The barmaid hadn't got the hint, obviously.

Blair had started sipping her martinis just a little too sharply, stabbing the olives in them while he'd kept his hand on her thigh to try and calm her down. That usually did the trick.

He'd had to get up to use the bathroom.

He'd been on his way back when a tiny brunette had slammed him into the wall.

"Ok," she'd announced. "You win. I'll do it."

He'd raised an eyebrow. Glanced suggestively at her hands on his chest. "Have sex in a public place?" His hands had wrapped round her waist, smirking - "Hate to break it to you Waldorf, but I've already won you round on that one..."

She'd been stiff, though. Business like. "No, you idiot. I mean I'll have a threesome." Her voice faltered slightly at the final word, but she forced herself to say it. Head raised. Blair Waldorf always marched head on into the things that made her nervous, guns blazing. A good offence is the best defense. (Blair Waldorf, aged four).

He'd looked at her, genuinely flabbergasted. And it wasn't often Blair Waldorf could ever do that to him.

"A threesome?" he'd repeated. Stared at her, hard. "Waldorf. Have you had one too many martinis?"

"I _said_, I'll do it." She'd kept her jaw set, though there was the briefest flickers of uncertainty in her eyes.

His hands had stayed on her waist, holding her in place as he studied her. "Are you saying you want to have a threesome?"

He knew she wasn't, of course.

Her pause was only a fraction of a second. (But long enough). "Yes."

He'd had a choice then. Play her at her own game, and see how far she'd go - and she'd crack, eventually. Or, seeing that flicker in her eyes -

"Blair." Definitely serious, if it wasn't Waldorf any more. "What is this about?" He had a suspicion he already knew anyway.

Her response had been immediately on the offensive. Of course. "What do you mean what is this about? I said I'd have a threesome!" Her voice had risen with each word - "Are you turning me down? Chuck Bass is turning down the opportunity to have a threesome? Do you not _want_ to have a threesome with me?"

His eyebrow had quirked, faintly. "Why, when we can have all the twosomes we want?"

That had practically sent her into overload. She'd been too far gone at that point. "Because you're Chuck Bass!"

He'd gripped her wrists, then, pulling her to his chest till she hadn't been able to escape. She'd tried to squirm, but stilled, eventually, under his gaze. Miserable. His fingers had pressed into her skin, holding her till he had her completely.

That had been when he'd made the promise.

And the fight had left her after that; she'd finally relaxed, drinking those words in till she believed them. The promise. And then she'd smiled, reluctantly. And they'd both grinned about how crazy she was as he'd kissed her, her arms twining round his neck. All the tension gone.

That stupid promise that had ended up being a prophecy. It was easy to say them when he'd never thought he'd lose her.

_I'm not Chuck Bass without you. _

And when his father looked at him like he didn't know him, he was reminded, for the thousandth time, exactly how hideously true it was.

* * *

Serena glanced up from her bed at the knock on her door.

Nate's head appeared with a faint smile. "Hey." She knew where he'd been - visiting Chuck. He moved into the room. "I was dropping Eric back. Thought I'd come and see how you were."

She managed a smile in return. "I'm fine. Just doing a paper." Pulled a face. "Or trying to."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise at that. "You're doing _homework_?"

Unusual enough even on a school day, but they'd broken up for mid-term break by now. They'd only missed the last two days of school.

She gave him a little pout. "You're one to talk. When was the last time you completed anything?" He chuckled, and she shook her head. "I just thought it would...take my mind of things. You know?"

He nodded.

"So," she sighed. "How have you been?"

He could only manage a shrug, lowering himself onto her bed.

"Yeah," she muttered. "Same."

They exchanged not quite a smile.

"How's Eric?" She glanced at him. "I...I feel like I haven't spoken to him in days." It may only have been a few days since that awful night, but it felt like a lot longer. She wasn't even sure _what _day it was.

"He's worried about Chuck," Nate answered quietly, at last.

She closed up just like that.

"Serena," he sighed.

"What?" she challenged back, looking determinedly at the ceiling. "I'm supposed to feel sorry for him, when I can see what he's doing to my family?"

"Serena-"

"No, Nate. He's the most selfish person on the planet. He needs to realise what his lies are doing to people."

"He's been seen by like, ten shrinks," Nate pointed out. "He's in the Ostroff Centre, by _involuntary _admission." His tone softened a little. "Clearly he's not lying."

She just rolled her eyes. "Yeah, he might be feeling suicidal now. After what happened. But that doesn't mean-"

"Serena," Nate groaned. "I can't have this argument. Ok? Not again."

She opened her mouth to retort, but the blare of her ringtone interrupted. They both glanced at the caller ID; and Nate's brow furrowed, for a second, as he read the name.

They both paused. She didn't answer, though - rejected instead, with a little sigh. Nate wondered if maybe she'd wanted to pick up.

"Who's Dan?"

She sighed again. "A friend."

"A friend?" he repeated. He was aware of the prickle of bitterness creeping into his voice - unlike him, too - but he couldn't help it. "I've never heard of a Dan."

She stopped, giving him a look. "I don't have to answer to you, Nate," she said pointedly. "Anyway, he's at school with us. So you should've heard of him."

(No matter that she hadn't till a few weeks ago).

"What's his last name?"

"Humphrey."

Still a blank look.

"Is he in any of your classes?"

"God, Nate," she groaned. "What's with the third degree? We broke up. Remember?"

"No," he said suddenly, hotly, "_You _broke up with _me." _

She closed her eyes. "Nate-"

He bit his lip, shaking his head. He knew he shouldn't have said anything. But it still _hurt_. "I know," he interrupted. "Now isn't the time." He got to his feet. "I should probably go," he muttered, at last.

"Yeah," she sighed. "You should."

She tried to ignore the hurt in those blue eyes, his noticeable flinch. "I'll see you later," he managed. In that way only Nate could. And he left. Serena sighed, sinking down onto her bed. Great.

* * *

She was still sulking when her mother called her. She'd long given up on the paper; she'd taken to flicking through her diary instead. Serena had never been able to keep a diary for very long - she always got too distracted, too bored with writing it all down. Not like Blair's meticulously penned accounts. But she usually started each new year with good intentions.

This particular one was several years old. She'd been eleven, if she recalled correctly. Maybe twelve. It got as far as two weeks into January - and then just two entries in April, when she'd gigglingly written a load of rubbish about Carter Baizen with Blair - who had been positively horrified - and one, final entry in December. When Blair had pointed out that she never lasted the whole year, and that her resolution was coming close to failing again.

_Dear diary, _

_I had math today and it totally sucked. Lucky Blair let me copy her test. She is the best friend in the whole wide world, and I mean that! Not just because she let me copy - I promise, Blair! She thinks she's going to get in huge trouble, but I know how to talk to Miss Jones. We'll be fine. Then I had English, and the sub teacher is totally hot! He looks kind of like Jude Law. And he's British, how cute is that? _

Serena had skimmed through the rest of the entry till she caught the familiar B again -

_And lunch was seriously awkward! Blair is still not talking to Chuck, and she won't tell me why. Like it's the biggest secret in the world. Whatever! Georgie asked if I wanted to skip geography. Obviously I did ;p Blair got a bit weird after that - cos she still hates Georgie, but that's just Blair - but there's no point asking her to come. She never skips. Anyway, we went for ice cream after school, so I made it up to her. Except Chuck was hanging round the ice cream shop, which was kind of annoying. Hello, I wanted to spend time with my best friend? He's always hanging around Blair anyway! She seriously doesn't want to talk to him. I totally convinced her to ditch him. He's gross - he was probably there to check out all the other girls. I told Blair that and she got really mad! See, she thinks he's just as gross as I do. This is like the longest she hasn't spoken to him for. Whatever he did, she's really, really mad. But at least I get my best friend back :D yay! _

"Serena?"

Lily appeared at the door.

"Did you hear me? You need to come downstairs, darling."

Serena got to her feet, pushing the diary away. "What is it?"

"It's...the detective. He wants to ask you a few questions." Lily glanced at her. "Is that ok?"

Serena swallowed. "Yeah." She nodded, following her mother out.

Detective Brown shook her hand as she approached him, inviting her to sit down. "I hope this isn't a bad time?"

She forced a smile. "No. It's fine." She sat with Lily on her other side.

"I know this must be hard for you." He pulled out his notebook, glancing at her. She bowed her head for him to go on. "Could you tell me what your relationship was to Blair Waldorf?"

"I was her best friend," she whispered.

"And Charles Bass is your stepbrother, correct?"

Serena pressed her lips together. "Yes."

"Do you know where they were on the night of March 3rd?"

"No," she answered. "I mean, I knew Blair had plans with Chuck. I just didn't know...what they were."

"What were you doing that night?"

Serena went a little still. "Uh, I was out with friends."

"And when was the last time you saw Blair?"

"At school. We had French together after lunch. We were meant to be going for coffee after...but Blair had to cancel last minute. Her mom wanted her home."

Brown paused for a moment, at that. He distinctly remembered Eleanor Waldorf telling him she hadn't seen her daughter since that morning.

"Is that what she told you?"

Serena frowned a little. "Yeah. She texted me - she had to rush off."

"Do you still have the text?"

"Yeah," she murmured, softly. "It was...my last text from her."

"Would you mind if I saw it?" Brown pressed.

Serena's frown deepened, but, reluctantly, she pulled out her cell. Scrolled through the messages and handed it over. She wasn't used to any adult looking at her phone.

_Hey S. I'm so sorry, have 2 bail. Eleanor's throwing a hissy - need 2 run home double time. xoxo _

The detective pursed his lips, writing something down.

"And that was the last you heard from her?"

"Yes." Serena swallowed again, feeling that lump in her throat.

"Did you notice anything unusual about Blair's behavior that day?"

"No," she answered firmly. "Nothing."

"Had you talked to her much?"

That made her hesitate. "Well...I mean, enough."

"Enough?" Brown prompted.

Serena gave another frown. "French was our only class together," she admitted. "And I had detention at lunch, so..." The detective wrote something else down, and she added, adamantly - "But she was fine in French. There was nothing unusual at all. I would have noticed."

"What about before that? Was there anything odd? In the week - the month leading up to that day?"

"_No."_

"Are you quite sure about that?"

"Blair was not suicidal." How many times did she have to say it?

"What about Charles? When was the last time you saw him?"

Serena's face darkened almost instantly. "I don't know," she shrugged. "That morning, I guess. Before school."

"Did you travel to school together?"

"No. He and Eric - my brother," she clarified, "Always used to take the limo. I used to walk with Blair." She couldn't stop a faint, sad smile. "She always said it was good for her cardio."

"Did you walk with her that morning?"

"No," she admitted. "I was late."

"And was there anything odd about Charles' behavior, that you noticed?"

She shrugged again, eyes flickering to the ceiling. "I don't know. We never spent that much time together."

At that, Lily couldn't help but intervene. "Serena," she sighed. "Come on. You and Charles_ lived_ together. And I know you used to go to the same parties. The four of them grew up together," she tried to explain to the detective.

"Four?"

Serena glared at her mother. "She means the three of us and Nate," she muttered. "Nathaniel Archibald. Chuck's best friend." She sent Lily another glare. Baleful. "And actually, since me and Nate broke up, I wasn't really talking to Chuck." That was always how it was when she and Nate broke up - she got Blair, and he got Chuck. (Except Chuck got Blair anyway).

"But did you notice anything about Charles?"

Lily knew Serena wanted to say yes. Anything to make sense of it. She was forced to just pull a face instead, though. "I don't know. Chuck was Chuck. Like I said, I didn't see him enough. Only when he was with Blair. And neither of them did much...talking, then."

Other than their usual banter, which she filtered out anyway.

"What about his and Blair's relationship? How would you describe that?"

"They were close." Serena looked like she would refuse to say anything else, and Lily gave a little sigh.

"Come on," she murmured. "Serena, the detective needs an accurate picture."

Her daughter glowered back at her, while Brown waited.

"She loved him," she snapped at last. "Ok? She would have done anything for him. Chuck was...everything, to her."

"And would you have said he felt the same way?"

"I don't know," she muttered.

Lily was warning. "Serena-"

"I _don't_," she insisted. "Ok? She was probably the only girl he cared about. And the only person he ever told he loved," she admitted, grudgingly. "He did do a lot for her. But he knew how to hurt her too." And, when Lily opened her mouth to object - "He did, mom. You didn't know him like we did. You just thought he was your charming stepson." No one missed the edge of bitterness in her voice. "But he had a cruel streak. Everyone else knew that."

"Was he ever cruel to Blair?" Brown pressed.

"Yes," Serena muttered.

"_When_?" Lily interjected in sheer exasperation.

"That New Years," Serena cried passionately. "When we were...fourteen." Lily raised her eyes heavenwards, so Serena ignored her to turn to the detective. Determined. "They had a nasty fight," she insisted. "Blair wouldn't tell me about it, but whatever he said really hurt her. And then he _abandoned _her to go on some bender in Prague."

Brown regarded her. "And what happened when he got back?"

At that, Serena sank slightly. "I don't know. I don't think he was in a very good state. Blair forgave him, anyway."

"When you say not a very good state...?"

She scoffed. "I mean Blair practically had to save him from drowning in a pool of scotch. He probably should have had his stomach pumped."

Lily tightened her lips, saying nothing of all the times she was fairly sure Blair had saved her own daughter from a pool of alcohol. Serena herself could go on a bender or two - and Lily didn't even know all the details for sure. Didn't want to know, either. And of course she said nothing now.

"And apart from that? Were there any other incidents between them?"

There was a slight silence.

"Not that I know of, specifically," Serena admitted at last. "But Chuck knew everyone's weaknesses. He was a master at spotting them. He knew how to hurt people. And he knew Blair's best of all."

"Would you have described their relationship as healthy?"

Serena faltered. "No," she said at last.

Lily gave a little groan. "Oh, for heaven's sake-"

"With all due respect," the detective stopped her, gesturing at Serena - "I'd like to hear your daughter's opinion." He looked at her alone. "Why not?"

She bit her lip. "Because nothing Chuck _does_ is healthy," she blurted. "Maybe he was supposed to be my friend, but I never trusted him. No one could. He was the last person I wanted Blair to go out with."

"Why?"

"He lost his virginity in sixth grade," Serena stressed. "And, no. Not to Blair. He was Manhattan's biggest womanizer by, like, thirteen!"

Anyone not used to the ways of Upper East Siders may have found that hard to swallow. Sadly, Brown could believe it. "And when did he start going out with Blair?"

"After that," she allowed, eventually. "But a leopard doesn't change its spots."

"_Serena-"_

Brown ignored Lily. "Was he ever unfaithful to Blair?"

"No," she muttered. "That's the thing. When Chuck wanted something, he went for it. Nothing got in his way."

"And he wanted Blair?"

"Yeah. The same way a shark wants its prey," she added darkly. "Chuck is emotionally stunted," she pressed. "You can ask anyone. He's not _healthy. _Never has been."

All of this had clearly been brewing inside her past few days, Lily realised. She watched her daughter in silence. She knew she was hurting. But it still shocked her, how quickly she'd turned on Chuck. Blair's death was clearly affecting her more than she was even letting on.

"I think that's enough," she stated. She got to her feet. "I'm sorry, detective, but I'll have to ask you to finish there."

Detective Brown paused, gathering his notes. "All right." He glanced at Serena. "Thank you, Miss van der Woodsen."

"Are you going to question him?" she demanded instead. "Have you talked to him yet?"

"We will be," Brown assured her. "In due course."

Serena had got to her feet too, folding her arms. "Good," she mumbled.

Brown inclined his head. "Thanks again for your time." He saw himself to the exit, leaving mother and daughter still facing each other.

"Serena," Lily attempted with a sigh.

"When are you going to stop defending him?" Serena said angrily. "Something happened that night, and whatever it is - he's lying about it. When are you going to realise that? He's _not _your perfect Charles. Everyone else can see he's a monster. Why can't you?"

Lily shook her head, her own eyes flaring. But she couldn't lose it with her daughter. It wouldn't help anything. "Just go to your room," she sighed at last. "Get some rest."

Because god knew she needed it.

* * *

"What's up, Waldorf?"

The brunette sent him a significant glower. "Nothing."

"What's Serena done this time?"

"Nothing," she repeated vehemently. "Leave me alone."

He rolled his eyes, dropping onto the table next to her. He could guess anyway - it was the first week of fifth grade, and Serena was still the centre of attention from her summer exploits, as well as best buds with the new girl. A Penelope something that Chuck had already deemed boring. She, Serena and Georgie had formed a little three. One that Blair refused to be part of, solely due to Georgina.

"You know she'll come back to you."

Blair stabbed at the pasta in front of her without actually eating it. She hated school lunch. From now on, she was going to tell Eleanor she refused to eat anything the school cooked in their greasy kitchens. Her daddy would let her. "I don't care," she snapped.

"Yes, you do," he answered idly. "You got mac and cheese."

Blair Waldorf hated mac and cheese.

She sent him a furious glare. "I said go away. Can you not take a hint?"

"I can," he smirked. "I'm just choosing to ignore it."

She pulled a face. But her heart wasn't really in it, and they both knew.

"Can we plot her social destruction now?" he asked hopefully. He always loved dragging out Blair's dark side. And getting her to turn against Serena would be pretty epic.

She looked for a second like she was going to grin, before she remembered herself and scowled instead. "It wouldn't make a difference," she muttered at last, darkly. "Nothing ever touches Serena." When what she really meant was that there wasn't any point, because Serena hadn't even realised. Serena just thought she was being nice to Penelope. Serena was just being Serena.

"Since when are you a quitter? Come on, Waldorf."

She rolled her eyes, but there was a little smile underneath it. Despite herself. She glanced at him, nose scrunching for a second. "Where's Nate, anyway?"

It was Chuck's turn to scowl at that. "Playing soccer. Apparently Baizen is captain of the team." Not that Carter was particularly athletic - he'd probably bribed his way to the top just to pick on the other boys.

"You don't want to join them?" Blair asked sweetly. She already knew the answer.

"And get this shirt dirty?" His expression was one of sheer distaste. "No thank you."

Blair smirked. Her face soured for a second, though. "I think they went to watch them." SerenaPenelopeGeorgie. Ugh. "Penelope has some massive crush on Nate." She snorted - "As if he'd even look at her."

She'd been over Nate ever since a certain game of spin the bottle.

Chuck, however, glanced at her with interest. "Does Serena know that?"

"No," Blair scoffed. "Penelope thinks she's being really subtle, but..." Her voice trailed off as the same realisation dawned on her. She glanced at Chuck, speculatively, and the two of them exchanged a slight grin.

Serena was too nice to ever admit it, but they all knew the real truth: Nate was hers.

"It would be so sad," Chuck sighed mournfully, "If they let a boy come between them."

"Tragic," Blair agreed.

He got to his feet. "You know, I think I might go to that game."

Blair climbed after him, slipping her arm swiftly into his. "I might just join you." And, still smirking, the two of them disappeared, arm in arm.

* * *

"I saw Eleanor today."

Nate looked up from his lunch in surprise, glancing over at his mother. "You did?"

She nodded, spearing her fish. "Coming out of her building as I walked past."

"How was she?"

"Pale," Anne sighed. "Though I suppose that's to be expected. I'm going round there tomorrow for tea." She regarded him. "Would you like to come?"

Honestly? No. He couldn't imagine going to the Waldorf home without Blair. But he knew he needed to, so he managed a nod. "Yeah. Sure."

Their meal was interrupted by the chime of the doorbell; Anne's slight puckering of her brow was instant. Interruptions to the family lunch - a tradition even after Howard had been indicted - were not welcome. "Who could that be?"

Their maid appeared, looking a little uncertain. "There's a Detective Brown here?"

Anne exchanged a glance with her son. "All right," she frowned. "Show him up."

It emerged that the detective was there to talk to Nate. He apologized for putting their meal on hold, pulling out his notebook. Once he'd established that Nate was Chuck and Blair's friend, he got straight to business.

"Can you tell me what you were doing on the night of March 3rd?"

"I had a lacrosse game that went on late, and me and the guys went out afterwards to celebrate." His gaze flickered, for a second, to his mother, before admitting, "We went to a couple of bars."

Anne could have guessed as much anyway, even if she chose never to question.

"And did you know where Charles was that night?"

Nate shrugged. "With Blair. He told me earlier he was seeing her, but I don't know where. I tried calling him a couple of times, to see if he wanted to join. But he didn't pick up." He cleared his throat. "Well, obviously. It must have been about ten o'clock...so he wouldn't have."

"When was the last time you saw him? Before he was taken to hospital?"

"Uh...in school that day, I guess." They'd blown off health class together for their customary smoke.

"And how did he seem to you?"

Nate hesitated for a moment. "Well..." Well, Nate had been high. He hadn't been the most observant of people during that particular hour. "I guess he seemed fine. I mean, I didn't think anything was strange." Yeah, he really wouldn't have known.

"And what about before then? Was there anything strange in his behavior the weeks before?"

"I couldn't have said for sure," Nate admitted. He'd sort of been high most of those weeks. "Sometimes Chuck just got into weird moods anyway."

"Weird moods?"

"Not weird," he amended. Shit, why had he said that? It wasn't what he'd meant. He forgot this person didn't know Chuck Bass. "I just mean it was hard to know what he was thinking all the time. Even for me. And I was his best friend."

Brown took a note of that. "And when was the last time you saw Blair Waldorf?"

"The same day," Nate recalled. "In the courtyard at lunch. She usually ate on the Met steps," he explained, "But she was talking to Chuck."

"Do you know what they talked about?"

The boy shook his head. "I had a meeting before the game. I only saw them for a minute. They were just...being them, I guess."

"And had you noticed anything strange about Blair before then?"

Well, if he hadn't been sure about Chuck - then he definitely wasn't sure about Blair. "I don't know," he confessed. He bit his lip. "I keep thinking. Trying to remember. But...I've never been all that good at understanding her."

"What do you mean?"

"She never really showed her emotions. You know? She was very good at acting like everything was fine."

Just like every Upper East Side princess.

"How would you have described the relationship between the two of them?" Brown asked slowly.

At that, Nate smiled a little. Sad. "They were...perfect for each other. Weirdly," he added with a slight laugh. "I mean, sometimes I swear they could read each other's minds. No one got Chuck like Blair did. Not even me. And she was the only girl he's ever loved." There was still that hint of awe in his voice.

"How did he treat Blair, in your opinion?"

"He would've killed anyone if they'd found out," Nate admitted. "But I think, secretly...he was a romantic." For Chuck Bass, anyway. "Like," he explained, "She used to put pieces of jewelry on hold at the store for her birthday. And he'd go in days before, and buy exactly what she wanted. Before she'd even picked it." It had always amazed Nate.

"He knew her well, then?"

"He knew her best. Out of everyone." Then he reflected, loyally, "Except maybe Serena."

"Did they ever fight?"

"Yeah," Nate laughed. "All the time."

"So their relationship was a turbulent one?"

Nate paused. "Not exactly," he frowned. Because, again, that hadn't been what he'd meant. "They just...they liked bickering, I guess. Which sounds weird. It didn't always make sense to me - they'd go from arguing to making out in like two seconds. But," he added, still trying to explain it, "That's just them. They were crazy. I mean, I swear Blair was never happy unless she was insulting someone. It wasn't...mean. Exactly. Just Blair."

"Did they ever have any serious fights while they were going out?"

Nate's brow furrowed. "There was this one time," he remembered vaguely. "A few years back. When we were thirteen or fourteen. Fourteen," he corrected. "It wasn't a fight exactly. Chuck, uh, he found out some stuff. About his mother."

The detective waited for him to continue.

"He's never got on all that well with his dad," Nate confessed. Almost guilty. "I think they had an argument. And Chuck somehow found out that his mom died giving birth to him. I guess...he kind of felt like it was his fault."

"He hadn't known before then?"

"Bart told him she'd died in a plane crash," Nate frowned. "No one really knows why. But apparently it happened when he was born."

"And what was Chuck's reaction to that?"

"He was bad," the boy admitted. "He always used to disappear when stuff got really bad. You know, the anniversary of his mom's death. If he had a fight with his dad."

"Disappear?"

"Not for long," Nate explained. "We just wouldn't see him for a couple of days. That's how we knew it was really bad that time...he was gone for a whole month. Over the winter vacation."

"Do you know where he went?"

"Prague," Nate sighed.

"And what did he do there?"

Nate looked a little uncomfortable. "You know, blew off steam."

"Would you have said he drank too much?"

"He...could hold his alcohol," Nate answered carefully. But who on the Upper East Side couldn't? "I mean, I guess sometimes he had a lot. But he was always in control," he was swift to add. "He knew his limits."

Which he didn't think many other people realised - but Chuck had always been far more controlled than say, Serena. And even if he did go off the deep end - briefly - he would always be back the next day. Tie perfectly knotted.

"And what happened when he came back from Prague?"

Nate shrugged. "I didn't see him straight away. I was staying with my grandfather over New Years. But by the time I got back, he was fine again. Blair was with him."

"And how did Blair react to all of this?"

"She was worried," Nate reflected. "I think a lot more worried than she let on. That's the longest her and Chuck have ever not spoken. I mean, at all."

"Were you aware that he'd said anything to her before he left?"

Nate hesitated. "I know he said something," he admitted. "Just because I saw him. I went round his suite to check he was ok, but he wasn't making much sense. He just said something about not deserving her. And he was gone by the next morning."

"Do you think that's something he felt throughout their relationship? That he didn't deserve her?"

Nate paused again. Considering. "I don't know. But he did. Seriously," he affirmed, "I don't know any two people who deserved each other more than they did. I mean, he loved her even when she was being insane." Probably _because _she was insane.

"Would you have said, at any point, that he was capable of hurting her?"

The boy glanced at him. "They were both equally capable," he answered eventually. Almost thoughtfully. "You know? They were both good at hurting people." He felt another little twist of guilt for saying it, but it was true. "But...I think if Chuck ever hurt Blair, it just ended up hurting him way more. He just wouldn't. He loved her," he insisted.

The detective nodded, completing his final notes. "All right. That's all I need for today." He got to his feet, sending Anne a brief smile. "Thank you for your time. I may need to ask you some more questions at a later date."

Nate shrugged, ever accommodating. "Whatever you need."

Anne waited till the man had left before glancing at her son.

"Nathaniel?" she asked, almost cautiously. "What was he trying to imply?"

Nate paused. "What do you mean?"

"All those questions about whether Charles would hurt Blair? He doesn't believe that, does he?"

Because hard as suicide was to grasp, the alternative was far, far worse. And far too much for Anne's brain to process. She hadn't always been Chuck's biggest fan, but he was Nate's best friend. And she had seen the boy grow up.

"I don't know," Nate answered finally. "I think it's just something they have to consider."

"But-"

"Mom," he pressed. "It doesn't mean it's true. This is Chuck, remember?"

Chuck and Blair.

Anne eventually gave an uncertain nod. This whole business was just awful.

* * *

**A/N - Thank you so much for your reviews! I'm really glad people are reading and enjoying this :) I hope Serena wasn't too irritating this chapter. I'm actually a big fan of the Chuck/Serena sibling interaction; but I don't think she'd ever hesitate to pick Blair's side over his. **


	6. Chapter 6

They'd set him up with a new therapist. Dr. Horace. And for once, this one didn't fit the stereotype. (Chuck had seen so many he wasn't sure what the stereotype was, exactly - only that some people just _felt _like shrinks). Horace was a large black man with fuzzy grey hair and dark, rich eyes. He would have looked more in place working behind a bar. Or owning a restaurant - not in the clinical, muted coolness of the Ostroff Centre.

He came in just as Eric was leaving, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder with far more vigour than any of the doctors here tended to show. There was an unspoken rule that you didn't touch people.

Chuck got into position, as always, waiting for the inevitable questions. Instead of taking the chair at the opposite end of the room, however, Dr. Horace dragged it closer the bed.

"Hope you don't mind." His voice was a low rumble, slightly amused - "You get a lot of mumblers here. My ears aren't what they used to be."

That almost elicited a faint quirk at Chuck's lips. He regarded the doctor in silence.

"So, Chuck." They usually called him Charles. Chuck continued to study him - the man must have heard Eric as he'd said goodbye. "You look a mess. And you strike me as the kind of person who usually takes pride in his appearance."

Chuck showered every day. He washed himself, methodically. On auto-pilot. But he hadn't seen a mirror in days. Nor did he particularly want to. Chuck Bass had taken pride in his appearance.

"Actually, these pyjamas are Egyptian silk." His answer was automatic, flat.

Dr. Horace chuckled slightly. "I can tell. How are you enjoying your stay?"

Stay. Like it was some kind of hotel. "The service is unbeatable," Chuck responded without humor.

Dr. Horace's eyes twinkled anyway. "I think I like you already." Chuck was so thrown off guard that for a second, he just stared. Dr. Horace gave another low chuckle. "Well, at least that got a response." He lifted a bushy eyebrow. "You gonna stop acting like a zombie now?"

* * *

Georgina had set her sights on Chuck Bass. She wasn't exactly subtle about it. She'd been following him round most of the night. Stalking him, more like. The sixth grade winter formal was a particularly tame affair - baiting Chuck was her only amusement. Blair had been doing everything in her power - for the past several years now - to drive Georgie away from Serena. Maybe getting her claws into Chuck would give her more of a hold over the blonde.

Chuck was far too busy spiking the punch with vodka and watching Blair dance with Serena. (Nate had chicken pox. Chuck didn't have anyone else to watch).

Blair was wearing a cute little silver dress, patent kitten heels and silver ribbons woven into hair. It was all far too _cute_, Georgina thought with a sneer. Not like Serena's tiny, rumpled white dress, which showed off her already developing figure in a way that was almost indecent. Serena was dancing crazily as ever, grabbing Blair's hands to twirl her as she tossed her own golden hair. Her laugh had already captured most of the boys' gazes in the room.

One of them finally plucked up the courage to approach her. Luke Stanton, swim captain. Of course. He flashed Serena a grin, holding out his hand. Serena tried to drag Blair along too, but Luke was already pulling her away, reaching boldly for her waist.

She threw Blair an apologetic look; the smaller girl just smiled back and shook her head. Motioned that she was going to get a drink. Georgie was willing to bet she was nowhere near as ok as she was pretending. Kicked out of the spotlight again.

Blair joined Chuck by the punch bow, nose wrinkling.

He smirked and offered her a cup, which she instantly refused. "Great, Bass. Now you've poisoned the only drink in the room."

"Live a little," he taunted back. "It might make this dance actually enjoyable."

She rolled her eyes, and he grinned. Just like always.

Georgie didn't get why he found such a virginal prude so amusing.

She sauntered over, letting her arm drape round Chuck. "Pour me a drink, sweetie," she purred from between her lashes. Chuck rolled his eyes and brushed her off.

"I think you've had enough," he sneered. "I can smell it on your breath from here."

Georgina just puckered her lips at him. "You're no fun, Chuckles." She gave Blair an idle once over. "Don't tell me you've joined your girlfriend in the boring patrol?"

Chuck snorted at that - but Blair, for some reason, flushed. "I'm not his girlfriend." It blurted out before Chuck could retort. Her attention was half on Serena, who was dancing, very close, with another boy - but she cursed instantly. Realising too late what had just left her mouth. What the hell? Why would she _say_ that? She hoped no one had noticed - but no. Georgina's eyes had already lit up.

She knew.

Chuck glanced at Blair. "All right, Waldorf," he said drily. "No need to look so horrified. I get the message."

But he didn't, Georgie thought gleefully. Because it wasn't horror at all. When had _this _happened?

(_This _had happened after their ballroom dancing lesson, when Chuck - one of the only boys that could actually move through the steps without standing on Blair's feet, and the only one who could keep time with her - had smirkingly promised her a dance at the Winter Formal. One arm had been wrapped around her waist, his face seconds from hers and his voice a low murmur in her ear. It had given her a weird tingle; she'd had to push him off for fear that he would notice. She'd put it down to the dance - tango, after all - but she hadn't been able to get the idea out of her head. Dancing with him again. And not in front of their class, in her ballet pumps - at an _actual_ dance. She'd been horrified at just how much she'd started thinking about it. She hadn't told anyone, not even Serena. Because it was _Chuck)._

But she was watching Serena now, dancing. And Chuck was wearing a bow tie - she always liked it when he wore suits.

Oh God, she couldn't believe she'd let _Georgina _find out. This needed to be stopped.

"I can't help it if the idea makes me feel sick," she snapped.

Chuck's brows lifted for a second. She wondered for a second if she'd actually hurt him - but he simply rolled his eyes, brushing it off. Face unreadable. "Lovely as always," he mocked. His smirk was already in place.

She folded her arms, tight, over her chest. Maybe she'd be all right if she just didn't look at him.

* * *

It was in between afternoon exercises that they came. Detective Brown, followed by Bart. And a lawyer. And a counsellor, just in case. It would have been funny if it wasn't quite so...no. It wasn't funny at all.

"Charles," Bart instructed stiffly. "The detective would like to ask you some more questions."

They all sat down cosily in his little private room, Brown with his faithful notebook ever ready. "I'd like you to go over what exactly happened on March 3rd. Start with the morning. Did you speak to Blair then?"

"No."

"When was the first time you saw her that day?"

"Lunchtime."

"What did you talk about?"

"The weather."

"Charles," Bart started, sharply. He wasn't doing himself any favors. Chuck barely spared his father a glance, though. He may not have cared any more, but Bart damn well did. "Answer the detective's question."

There was a silence. Then, finally, "I don't remember."

"Did you talk about suicide?"

"No."

No, because they hadn't needed to. It was _there_, even if neither of them mentioned it directly. And why the hell would they have started talking about it in the middle of the courtyard?

"Had you planned beforehand what you were going to do that night?"

"Yes."

"What had you planned?"

"To kill ourselves."

Bart's jaw tightened, but the detective kept his patience. "How, exactly?"

"I bought a gun."

There was a slight intake of breath. "_You _bought the gun?" the detective confirmed.

Chuck's lip twisted. "That's what I said."

* * *

Blair was still gazing silently out at the other couples on the dance floor. Serena had broken any awkwardness between the boys and girls - there were pairs scattered all over the room now.

Chuck glanced at her. "Wanna dance, Waldorf?" He said it lightly, almost mockingly - and only to cover up the fact that he'd been trying for the past thirty minutes just to get the question out. For God's sake. He was _Chuck Bass_. Since when did Chuck Bass turn into a tongue-tied idiot? And why was he even nervous? It was _Blair. _Blair, the warmth of her bare arm just brushing his from where she stood next to him. For some reason, every time he'd opened his mouth to ask her, his voice had sort of caught in his throat. And then he looked like an idiot when he tried to clear it, casually. And then he was just looking at her, like some kind of creepy stalker, and he had to quickly drag his eyes away. What was _wrong _with him?

So it came out now almost like a challenge. A dare, rather than the simple question he'd intended it to be. For Christ's sake.

"Oh, I bet she'd _love_ to dance with you," Georgina's voice chimed in, gleefully. "Come on, Snow White, you've been waiting this past half hour just _praying _he'd ask. Counting your little wishes, and-"

"Shut up," Blair hissed, furiously. Oh God, please no. Chuck could _not_ find out -

"Go on, Chuckie," Georgina cackled. "Make all her daydreams come true. Sweep her off her feet!"

"More like that my worst nightmare," Blair retorted desperately. She tried to gain some semblance of control, lashing out. "I wouldn't dance with Chuck if he was the last person on earth."

Chuck just looked at her. "Fine," he answered, coolly.

Wait, she hadn't wanted that. Not the indifference. Had he _wanted _to dance with her? She stared at him, a little wildly now, trying to work it out and keep it hidden at the same time.

"Now, now Snow White. Mustn't tell lies," Georgie cooed. "Don't be so naughty." She leaned over to wrap her arms around Chuck again, and Blair felt physically sick. "Do you want to know a secret, Chuckie? Blair has one. Want to hear it?"

Blair had gone white in humiliation - but a slightly nervous voice cut in before any of them could add anything else.

"Uh, Blair? Do you want to dance?"

Blair turned in shock, and found an awkwardly smiling Henry Dantes before her. Chuck's eyes narrowed. He'd been irrationally irritated enough to hear that Henry Dantes had been crushing on Blair Waldorf. He hadn't changed from the repulsive little boy from kindergarten. He glared at the prick, waiting for Blair to cut him down. They still hated Henry, after all.

Blair, meanwhile, was looking at Georgina's hand - still laid on Chuck - and the malicious gleam in her eye. Waiting.

"Yes," she said abruptly. "Sure."

Chuck just stared. _What? _

_"_Waldorf," he attempted, with a slight snort -

"Well, I definitely don't want to dance with _you," _she snapped, praying that if she went off and danced with Henry she could claim Georgie was just lying. She'd have no_ proof_. And quickly, tearing her eyes away from Chuck, she slipped her hand into Henry's and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

Chuck watched with a strangely empty feeling, aware that the music had just switched to slow songs. He watched as Dantes curled and arm around Blair's waist, feeling the bile rise in his throat.

"So," Georgina simpered. "Looks like it's just you and me."

He ignored her, reaching straight for the vodka bottle. And, tearing his eyes from the sight of Blair swaying in Henry Dantes' arms, he started drinking with intent.

* * *

"Where did you buy the gun from?"

"A friend."

"Was it licensed?"

"No."

"What was the name of this friend?"

Chuck just pressed his mouth together.

"Charles," his father bit again. "You're not going to gain anything by protecting whoever it is."

Chuck was silent.

So the detective pushed instead, "Whose idea was it to buy the gun?"

"Mine."

Blair had done the research for the quickest way, though. The least painful.

"And you were both planning on shooting yourselves?"

"Isn't that what I said?"

"When did you decide on this?"

He lifted his shoulders. "I don't remember."

"Roughly? A week before? A month?"

"I bought the gun two weeks before."

"And you planned to meet on the night of March 3rd to shoot yourselves?"

"Yes."

"Was there any reason for that particular day?"

Blair hadn't wanted it to be a memorable day. She'd been adamant. Nowhere near any kind of celebration or holiday.

"No."

"So you saw Blair at lunch that day. And after that?"

"I picked her up from her apartment."

"At what time?"

"About six."

"Did you speak before that?"

"No."

Brown pursed his lips. "That seems strange, doesn't it? If you knew you'd be ending your lives that night? You only had a limited amount of time."

Chuck just gazed back coolly. Blankly. Blair had wanted time. And he'd needed it too. Time to get himself into action.

"You don't have to answer that, Mr. Bass," the lawyer intervened.

Brown lowered his head in acceptance. Went on. "Do you know what Blair was doing before you picked her up?"

"No." But he could guess.

"And did you do in that time?"

"Got ready."

Paced his penthouse, feeling sicker and sicker with each step. Checked the gun, because he knew she'd do the same. She'd demand to see the ammunition, everything. She wouldn't risk any chance of failure. No escape.

* * *

It was official. This was the worst formal ever. Blair had danced with Henry Dantes, who'd spent the entire night treading on her feet and trying to push his hand lower than was appropriate. He was _gross. _And he stank of milk, for some reason. The disgusting sour kind. And he had braces. And, oh God - he'd tried to _kiss _her. She didn't think she'd ever yanked away faster than when she'd seen his face bearing down on hers. No way was his mouth going anywhere near her.

She'd tried to escape to find Serena - but Serena already had a line of boys waiting to dance with her.

She'd also had to put up with the people around her getting steadily drunker. Serena included. Why anyone would even _touch _that bowl of punch was beyond Blair. God knew what people had dunked in it.

That wasn't really what was wrong, though. She'd determinedly ignored the corner of the room where Chuck was. With every last shred of will she had. It was nearing eleven now - the end of the formal, and she'd finally deemed it safe enough to risk a peek.

And, to her discernment, the corner was empty. There was no sign of him anywhere. She didn't know why the sense made her stomach sink. Part of her had been wishing he'd been watching her, she realised. But of course he wasn't.

"S." She finally managed to grab Serena's arm. "S, I want to go home."

Serena didn't hear her over the music, though - "Come on, B! They're gonna play the last song!"

Blair didn't want to listen to the damn last song. This night couldn't get any more miserable. Serena ignored her, grabbing her arms. "Come on! Last chance to dance with the person you want..."

Blair gave her a quick glance, suddenly fearful - but no, Serena had no idea. She was just being annoying. Oblivious as she seized the smaller's girls hands and swung her round, laughing. She was soon interrupted by an over zealous Luke Danton, clearly vying for last dance; Blair watched as the blonde stumbled off in his arms.

This was pathetic.

She was Blair Waldorf. Blair Waldorf did not stand _alone _during the last dance, waiting for...

And she suddenly caught Henry making a beeline for her. That decided it. Quickly, she moved through the crowds of people, heading for the cloakroom. The least she could do was call Dorota and have her send a car round. Serena was meant to be coming home with her - Blair could drag her out afterwards.

She rounded the corned, plan in hand. She just needed to find hers and Serena's coats.

Then she stopped, suddenly. Hearing a voice. A groan. A voice that she recognised. Confused, she moved further into the cloakroom. There was a row of coats in the way. She inched past them, straining to see.

And her breath froze.

Chuck disentangled himself from Georgina, zipping up his trousers. He felt closer to vomiting than he'd ever been; empty and weak and disgusting. His head was fuzzy with the amount of alcohol he'd drunk, the room spinning with her sickly sweet scent. He felt _nothing_.

Nothing, that was, until the glimmer of a gasp behind him.

He turned, disorientated, just in time to catch a flash of wide brown eyes.

Blair was staring at him, looking even sicker than he felt. It was like the time he'd pushed her, but ten times worse. And he didn't think those brown eyes could hold any more hurt than when she'd been staring up at him from the floor. This time it was like he'd pushed and then kicked her to make sure she didn't get back up.

His stomach lurched, violently.

"Blair-"

But she'd already fled.

* * *

"And after you picked Blair up - you took her to the nightclub Victrola, yes?"

"Yes."

"Whose idea was it to go there?"

"Mine."

Blair had been hesitant, at that, but he'd convinced her. Victrola was somewhere he knew.

"Am I correct in thinking that your family own Victrola?"

"Yes."

"Did you go straight up to the rooftop?"

"Yes."

"What did you do once you got there?"

Chuck stared expressionlessly. "You know that. She shot herself."

"We have the results from her first autopsy," the detective answered. "Stating that her time of death was around nine o'clock. Three hours from when you picked her up. Can you tell me what you were doing in that time?"

"We talked."

"The coroner's reports have found traces of alcohol in Blair's body. And the same in yours, when you were first admitted into hospital."

"I brought a bottle of scotch."

"The reports also indicate signs of sexual intercourse."

Chuck just gave him a look.

"Did you engage in intercourse that night?"

"Yes."

"Was it consensual?"

Bart stiffened instantly. "What are you trying to suggest?" he interjected, clipped. His tone was icy with rage.

"It's just part of procedure," Brown insisted evenly. He turned back to the boy. "Charles?"

He'd seen the briefest flicker in his eyes. The first sign of any emotion. "Yes." It took the detective a moment to recognise the emotion as anger. And then it was gone, just like that.

* * *

The weekend after formal, Chuck called Blair thirty six times. The first time, he was still drunk. He'd run after her, too late - she'd already hauled Serena home. He'd stood alone in the emptying room, only the last straggles of couples remaining, and left her a disjointed voicemail. Then another one. And another.

He'd drank more that night - broken into his father's scotch cabinet, which had earned more of Bart's disappointment the next day - and tried to call her again.

She'd finally picked up, catching him completely off guard.

"Stop calling me, Chuck. It's three o'clock in the morning."

"Wait, Blair-"

"Go away."

"I don't have to explain myself to you," he'd slurred, desperately - "You were dancing with Henry Dantes. Henry Dantes!"

"No," she'd snapped. "You don't. I hope you had a great night."

"You were dancing with-"

"Just go away, Chuck! Don't call me again."

There had been the furious dialing tone - and he'd caught it, just before she'd hung up on him - the faint catch of breath, a strangled sob. Even in his state and down the end of the line.

That was what had paralyzed him. Stopped him from calling her straight back.

He didn't try phoning her after that - spent the weekend getting drunker and praying for Monday to come. In the hope that when they went back to school, it would have blown over. That she'd somehow have forgiven him by then. (Even though he knew she wouldn't).

He'd been expecting her to be mad. What he hadn't expected was for her to ignore him. Act like he didn't even exist.

So he'd ignored her back. (Because he didn't know what else to do). And hell - why _did _he have to explain himself to her? It wasn't like they were going out. She wasn't his girlfriend.

Except he knew the entire time that those excuses meant nothing. All that mattered was the expression on her face when she'd seen him. Losing his virginity to her biggest enemy.

And wasn't that why he'd done it, really? He'd known it would hurt her, and hurt him too. And he'd been so bitter with rage that he'd done it for that sole reason. Fuck Georgina to fuck Blair and fuck himself in the process.

Georgina, meanwhile, was positively delighted. She'd spread the rumours all round school - and the other kids could only stare in awe. Chuck Bass.

She'd started hanging around him - purely to get to Blair, he knew.

Blair who wouldn't even look at him any more.

It had been three weeks later - even Serena had noticed the lack of speaking between the two of them. Blair told her nothing, of course. He wasn't there when they found the pot in Georgina's locker. He made sure of that. He and Nate had been in the courtyard when Serena had rushed out, wailing.

"Have you heard? They're expelling Georgie!"

Chuck had glanced up just in time to see Blair's expression, across the courtyard.

Her nose had turned up in deliberate, pointed disgust when she'd caught his gaze, eyes sliding away - but she'd still, finally, _looked_ at him. That alone had made it worth it.

She'd kept up the ignoring him for the rest of the week. And then, suddenly, one day - she'd approached him.

"We need to destroy Penelope. She tried to ask Nate out."

He'd looked at her warily - hardly daring believe his luck.

He hadn't hesitated, though. Slight smirk already forming. "I'm in."

She'd looked at him for a moment. Neither of them said anything, but they knew what it meant.

"Let's go, Bass."

Serena had bounded the corridor, ready to drag her best friend to the ice cream parlor like they always did. She'd stopped in surprise when she'd found the two of them tucked away in a corner again. Whispering and scheming like they'd never even stopped.

"You two are friends again?" she'd demanded, pulling all the attention back to her.

Nate's reaction had been pure relief. "Oh, thank God. Does this mean we can get ice cream together now?"

Chuck and Blair had exchanged a single glance.

"Of course we can," Blair proclaimed. "Don't be silly, Nate."

Chuck had grinned at his best friend's look of confusion. "But I thought-"

"But nothing." Blair rolled her eyes. "Are we going, or what?"

She'd linked arms with Serena obediently - but her eyes had flickered, finally, back to Chuck. Ensuring that he came too.

* * *

"Ok, let's get down to it. Tell me what happened on March 3rd."

It was the most direct any therapist had been - and Chuck watched him, for a moment. Silent. He wasn't used to that level of bluntness. Never had been, much as he'd appreciated not dancing around things. "My girlfriend shot herself," he answered robotically. "And then I passed out."

Dr. Horace gestured at the notes in front of him. "I know all that, Chuck. You've got it on record. How about you tell me something new?"

Chuck's mouth curled a little. "Like what?"

"Why do you think you passed out?"

He went still. "I don't know. My girlfriend had just died."

"Was that what you wanted?" But there was no judgement in the man's eyes - only curiosity. Genuine interest.

How could Chuck ever say he _wanted _that? He couldn't even summon the energy to lie. He was suddenly exhausted. "No," he answered, at long last. His voice was low.

"So why did you make a suicide pact?"

Silence. "Because she wanted to die." Harsh.

"Did you want her to die?"

He was drained. Drained from a never-ending series of nightmares that didn't end when he woke up. The darkness, the soothing brown wallpaper. And the emptiness. All of it was _empty. _Empty and never-ending. He realised that there was an unfamiliar sensation in his eyes. A burning. He closed his lids, feeling it prickle, alien.

"I don't know," he hissed at last. _No. He wanted it because she wanted it. And he didn't want it at all. _"I was supposed to save her," he snarled suddenly, jerkily. Choked. And, as his voice cracked, furious - "I was supposed to save her, and I was too late."

There was a long silence, and Chuck felt the room falling away.

"Chuck." Dr. Horace's voice was deep, and gentle. Anchoring. "Did you want to die?"

"No," he whispered. "I wanted to save her." He stared into nothing, broken. "I never wanted to die. I was never suicidal. I told her I'd go along with it, but I was supposed to stop her. I just - wanted - to - save her."

* * *

**A/N - Thanks so much for all your reviews! Next chapter will be longer :) **


	7. Chapter 7

Chuck should have known that Nate, out of all of them, would be the weak link. The Ostroff center prohibited communication devices of any kind - Chuck wasn't even allowed a radio. (Not that he'd ever listen to one anyway). Chuck Bass might once have been amazed to think he could live without the Gossip bitch for more than a day.

Still, when Nate got up to go to the bathroom, his blackberry was lying on the table. Visitors were asked to switch cell phones off, but of course Nate had forgotten. And of course someone had phoned - Serena, if Nate's face was anything to go by as he quickly rejected the call. Which was why the device now lay forgotten in Chuck's direct line of sight.

He picked it up, silently. He didn't even consider that he might be invading his friend's privacy - his fingers moved, automatic from years of practice, to the site he was looking for.

Her photo was still on the main page. Her cotillion, of course; the satin pearly grey dress, adorned by the diamonds he'd bought around her neck. She was poised as ever, perfect society smile glued in place at the sweep of the stairs - Queen B, in her crowning moment. He could see why the bitch - whoever he or she or they were - had picked it. Except it hadn't been, for reasons he'd then still been trying to work out. She'd done everything that was expected that night on autopilot. Serena's excited laugh that this was the day Blair Waldorf had been fantasizing about from the age of like, two, had been met with a forced grin. That empty look. Chuck could see it just in the photo now, the shell underneath the flawless veneer.

The comments under the photo were well into the hundreds. Varying stages of mourning and horror that he scrolled straight through. (She would have been pleased. Satisfied with the photo, an appropriate choice, and the sheer number of grief-stricken messages.) There was a post that declared Chuck Bass still missing in action, various insane tags from other people claiming they'd seen him walking the city like a ghost, renting his clothes or howling in her favourite spots - and then, finally, what he was looking for.

A date and a time.

The phone was back in its place by the time Nate returned.

Before his visit came to an end, Chuck asked him what the day was. He'd felt Nate's surprise - and the relief - all mingled in at once, because Chuck had actually_asked _something. Actually wanted to hear an answer.

"Saturday," Nate had replied, looking pleased with himself. Was this a sign that Chuck was snapping out of it? Did he dare hope?

"Archibald." Nate had been on his way out of the door - "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Nate's eyes had widened as he'd remembered his phone; gratefully apologising as he bundled it into his pocket. That had been a close one, he reflected guiltily. Thank God none of the orderlies had come in. You could get banned from visiting for less.

Chuck watched him go in silence.

Saturday. That meant it was in two days.

* * *

Detective Brown glanced over at his colleague. Marie Winslet was one of the best investigators on the force - and always his ultimate go-to. She was busy scanning the file he'd given her.

"So? What do you make of it?"

Marie chewed her pen thoughtfully. "He claims he just passed out?"

"Yes. But the tests we got back from the gun indicate that it may have been kickback. If he'd pulled the trigger, the force could have knocked him off his feet. That would explain cutting his head open."

"We'd need to question him further."

Brown sighed. "I've pushed him as hard I could. But it's the same line - he doesn't remember." The detective pulled a face. "He's not exactly co-operative." Because nothing got through to the boy. Brown had questioned guilty people before - but even the most hardened of criminals didn't have eyes as hollow as the ones he'd been dealing with.

"And the reports show both of their fingerprints on the weapon," Marie murmured, checking them through.

"Both sets are on on the trigger, too." The most crucial part.

Her gaze fell upon one of the photos from the autopsy. "What about the bruising on her inner thighs? Evidence of sexual assault?"

"I doubt it," Brown confessed. He could still remember the expression in the boy's eyes at the suggestion. "Nothing conclusive, anyway - and they've been having sex for a while now. We're unlikely to find anything to back an assault claim up."

"And the suicide claim?" she pressed.

"I've spoken to the girl's mother, a couple of their mutual friends. None of them said she displayed any symptoms of depression."

The investigator cocked her head as she continued to read. "You'll need more sources. You need to question her parents further. Teachers."

He nodded - "I've got appointment with her headmistress on Tuesday. And I'm waiting till after the funeral to get more from the parents." He sighed. "They weren't very receptive." Hardly a surprise.

"And the boy's father? Mr. Bass?"

At that, Brown shook his head. "Armed to the teeth with lawyers. I doubt we'll get much out of him - he's very careful. I wanted to talk to the stepbrother, but I have to get through Bass to do it. Same for the stepmother."

Marie's eyes flickered over the last sheet. "Not the sister, though. She seems quite adamant that something happened?"

"She says it wasn't suicide."

"Could be denial," Marie reflected. "We need to find out more about her relationship with her stepbrother. If there was any hostility. What did the girl's father think? Mr. Waldorf?"

"He seemed shocked at the idea the boy would have done anything," Brown admitted. "But he also stated his daughter wasn't suicidal."

"We need more. Diary entries, letters - anything of the girl's that you can get your hands on. I'll have to issue a search warrant."

"So do you think we have a case?"

She pursed her lips. "It's possible. But we're going to need a hell of a lot more. At the moment we don't even have a motive." There was no proof anywhere that Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf had even been fighting. "And you can guarantee those same lawyers Bass has working for him will tear anything we get to shreds."

Brown deflated a little.

"We'll need to look at the boy's psychiatric reports," Marie added. "He's got a pretty strong case if they can prove he's still suicidal. We can't touch him as long as he's committed," she reminded the detective.

"Right," he muttered. "Back to the drawing board, then."

* * *

It had been Serena's idea to watch Cruel Intentions - because ohmigod it had Ryan Phillipe in it, and he was like _hot._

Blair had caught Chuck reading _Les Liaisons Dangereuses _a couple of years ago. Aged ten, it was a book that was clearly supposed to be too mature for their age. Seduction and manipulation. She'd stolen it from his shelf - and she was sure he'd left it there deliberately, knowing she would. Tempting her. She didn't understand all of it, obviously - and some of the scenes had left her blushing, incredibly glad that she'd chosen to read it snuggled under her covers where no one would see her.

He'd asked her, smirking, if she'd enjoyed it - to which she'd rolled her eyes and pronounced it _average._

Neither Serena nor Nate were particularly interested in some random French book behind the movie; but Serena was content to drool over Sebastian and chip in with sighs and/or squeals every five minutes, and Nate was enjoying the haze from the joint Chuck had taught him to roll.

The four of them were in Nate's room, the girls sprawled over the comforter while the boys had opted for the floor, backs against Nate's bed. At some point Nate mumbled something about needing the bathroom; he shambled off and shambled back in, dopey smile in place. (He was twelve, pot was still relatively new). Grinning at Serena, he dropped down onto the bed - practically squashing Blair in the process.

"Nate!" she screeched, furiously - and Serena just giggled, long legs tangling with the blond boy's as they messed around. "I'm trying to watch the movie, you imbeciles." More giggles - and, crossly, Blair slid off the bed and into the space beside Chuck. "_God_, S."

Chuck gave her a little grin; she just sent him a look back, before refocusing on the screen.

He was, in fact, enjoying the movie too. He wanted to see it just as much as she did. And several scenes later, Serena and Nate did quieten down. Eventually.

Chuck watched the sexual tension mount; Katherine pressing herself against Sebastian with a lewdness that would surely evoke some outrage from Blair. His eyes slid to her, provocative comment on the tip of his tongue. But he stopped, eyebrow lifting - because Blair wasn't even pretending to be outraged. She was staring, completely rapt. She'd gone still next to him.

He gazed at her, watching her teeth press, slightly, unconsciously, into her lower lip; and he was suddenly aware of the warmth of her thigh pressed against his, even through the prim barrier of those tights.

Shit. He realised was getting off on watching Blair Waldorf watch a sex scene. He seriously _was_ sick.

There was only one way to deal with this. He leaned over, arm snaking around her body to graze the waistline of her skirt, and whispered against her ear, "Enjoying yourself, Waldorf?"

She snapped out of it straight away - literally, she _jumped_ - cheeks flushing as she hastily slapped his arm. Hard. He grinned - just as he'd predicted.

"You're _disgusting_!"

(She was still flushed, though).

"And you're turned on. Admit it."

He still had her in his hold, nudging her waist. No one was allowed to know that Blair Waldorf was anything other than one hundred percent pure; there was nothing like poking the fire under the surface to distract from his own.

Serena laughed, reaching over to stroke her best friend's hair from the bed. "Don't be gross, Chuck."

"He can't help it," Blair sniped, giving him a dark look - "It's second nature."

He smiled, idly, back at her. She rolled her eyes in response and turned back to the movie; he did the same, smirking.

But his pants were still tight.

* * *

When Lily arrived at the Ostroff that Monday morning, she was steeled and ready. Even if each step was laced with guilt, she'd prepared herself. But she hadn't prepared herself for the fright of her life.

Chuck was up.

Not just up - out of the bed or the chair, staring into nothing - but dressed. Properly. Carefully, in the white shirt they'd brought him, black cashmere sweater and dark trousers. His hair was combed. Slicked back, even.

"Charles." She managed to regain her composure, trying not to stare. "You..." He met her gaze evenly. "You look good," her voice caught a little, gazing at him. Because for a second, even if it was only superficial, he looked like her stepson again.

But icy dread had already gripped her. There could only be one reason - but, surely, he couldn't know -

"I'm ready," he stated.

She half closed her eyes. "For what?"

He just looked at her. "You know for what."

"Charles," she struggled. And it felt like her heart was breaking, that little bit. "Charles," she said softly. "You're not allowed to go."

"Why?"

"The doctors don't think it's a good idea." She made herself hold his gaze, keep her own voice even. "Not in your condition. They think it will do more harm than good."

His mouth hardened into one line. "I'm going."

"Charles-"

"It's her funeral."

"I know," she whispered. "I know." And her usually cold eyes were pricking with tears, but what choice did she have? "You're not allowed," was all she could say.

"You can't stop me." And, when Lily said nothing (because they both knew _she_ wouldn't, but there was still no way he'd make it out of the building); "You can't do this. It's her funeral_." _And when Lily still couldn't answer - could hardly bring herself to speak from the lump in her throat - "You can't _do_ this."

And there was finally, finally something in those eyes other than burning emptiness - and it shattered her that little bit more. As he stared back at her, the lost boy behind his carefully composed appearance; dark eyes so fierce and face so white.

"You said I'd get to say goodbye," he hissed. "You said the autopsy could take a month." _Up to _a month. It had been two weeks.

And she knew - she _knew. _But it wasn't something she had any control over.

"I'm sorry, Charles," she whispered.

There was a silence while he only stared at her, and she realised his hands were clenched and shaking. And she could tell he was already working out his options, trying to calculate _any_ way of getting out. And he knew as well as she did that there were none. (They'd sedate him if necessary, here.)

And then, just like that, the light went out. Switched off once more. He didn't move his gaze, but she could see he wasn't staring at her any more; there was nothing in front of his eyes.

"So you're here to distract me." His voice was a dull sneer. Hollow once again.

She was, of course. Eric had been the one to ask if Chuck was going to the funeral; and Lily had been the one who'd had to tell him that no, his brother couldn't. Eric had gone very quiet, the pain in his eyes obvious. He'd come down a few minutes later and told his mother he would stay with Chuck that day.

Nate had done the same when he'd found out; had tried to insist on it. Even as Lily had seen the war in his eyes, equal guilt at the idea of not going to the funeral of the girl he'd also grown up with.

But Lily had told them both, point blank, that they would do not such thing. Because Nate needed to go to Blair's funeral - it didn't make sense for him to miss it too. For any more of the four of them to be absent. And Eric - there was no way she was leaving her son to deal with that. With the possibility of Chuck finding out and hating him.

Lily had plenty of experience being hated by her children. She would be the one to do it. It wasn't an option. She and Bart had already decided on it.

It had taken her a while to work out why her husband was being even more distant than usual the week leading up to it - even more cold and cut off. She knew him well enough, by now, to work out that it meant something was going on. Something was getting to him. It had been when she'd caught the newspaper, hidden under a pile of charts. The memorial page; a photo of Blair - and the funeral announcement, of course. The black and white photo of a dark-haired society beauty, snatched from her youth - and Lily's own predecessor, the Mrs. Bass that they never spoke about.

Bart would have gone to her funeral. His own son didn't even have that.

Lily had tried, then, to broach it with him - and he'd answered, flatly, that Chuck could under absolutely no circumstances find out what was happening that Monday. What they were keeping him away from.

And if _he _took the morning off work, Lily knew, to take on the job of 'distracting' the boy for the morning - then there was no way Chuck wouldn't figure it out. Bart hadn't said as much; but she'd seen it just in the impossibly heavy line of his brow. In his rigid silence.

So she had told him that she would go that morning. Her, and her alone.

She looked at Chuck now, but there wasn't even hatred in his eyes. There was _nothing. _He sat down, silently, on the bed. His gaze moved back the soothing brown of the wall. His prison.

"You can go now."

She exhaled and lowered herself into the chair next to him. He didn't seem to notice anyway, but she stayed firmly where she was. She could still feel the dangerous sting of exhausted tears that she kept, just as firmly, at bay.

"I'm not going anywhere, Charles."

And they sat in silence.

* * *

"I can't believe he _died_," Serena sniffed. Her blue eyes were already glassy with tears.

And Chuck was already rolling his eyes. "Please. Sebastian was a pussy."

The four of them were on the bed now, Chuck between Serena and Blair as the credits rolled. None of them could really be bothered to get up or switch the lights on just yet. (And they all knew Blair would end up doing it.)

"He was sweet," Serena insisted, whacking him - and the blonde's physical abuse, while far less vindictive than Blair's, was for some reason far less amusing. "He just needed the right girl to change him." She gave a dreamy sigh that made Chuck's lip curl in disdain.

"Yeah," he retorted. Dry. "She changed him from a legend into a sap who got hit by a car." He snorted - "He _had_ the right girl. Katherine was smoking hot, and he could've been with her without having to cut off his balls."

Nate laughed at that, and even Blair was smirking. Her smirk didn't escape Chuck's notice for a second.

"She made him into a better person," Serena protested.

"She made him lose brain cells," Blair corrected. She didn't really want to admit that she agreed with Chuck, because you were _supposed _to like Annette - but Sebastian had definitely lost all interest once he'd 'changed' himself for her. Even their sex scene had been tame. (And no, she would definitely not be admitting_that. _Like, ever). "He stopped scheming, and then he died. The message is pretty clear."

Chuck smirked too, in appreciation - Katherine and Sebastian's process of humiliation via seduction was genius. And one of the main reasons he'd perused _Les Liasons Dangereux; _seeing it in action, on film, was even better.

Serena just looked at her best friend in exasperation. She would never understand Blair's incessant need to plot. "He died because he was scheming in the first place. If he hadn't been playing those games, then that guy would never have come after him." She sighed again, stretched comfortably next to Nate. "It's so sad. He met Annette too late." Serena van der Woodsen didn't like to be sad, though. She flashed a slight grin at Chuck; "Maybe you should hurry up."

It was practically imperceptible, the half second both Chuck and Blair stilled - and they both would have denied, point blank, that they had any idea why.

"What an inspiring lesson," Chuck drawled.

"If you learn anything from that movie," Blair scoffed - because come on, Serena hadn't even been paying attention the whole time (and they definitely needed to move away from the topic of Chuck's ideal girl) - "It's the beauty of revenge. Even sweet little Annette figured that one out by the end."

"And she was blonde," Chuck reflected. He smiled shortly at Serena. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."

"Hey." This was from Nate, torn between laughing at his best friend and defending his fellow blonde. "Uncalled for."

Serena shook her head at Blair. "Only you," she groaned, though there was that hint of loving teasing underneath, "Would decide _revenge _is the moral of the story."

Nate grinned too.

Chuck, however, was quite serious under his smirk. "It's not a moral. It's common sense."

"Sorry," Serena sighed. "You and Chuck."

Blair simply sent her a sweet smile back. "That, and a funeral can miraculously transform anyone into a saint. It's brilliant."

* * *

"She was such a lovely girl."

The Frenchman's voice was thick with tears as he stood before Serena, Nate and Eric; head bowed. Harold and Eleanor were united for once, currently on the other side of the muted room to face each murmured condolence from the throngs in black. It was certainly a flawless funeral reception - Eleanor Waldorf would have nothing less.

Serena managed a nod. She hadn't realised it was possible to be permanently on the brink of tears even after hours of crying, for her nose to run that much and her throat to be that raw. Harold's eulogy had been one of the worst - the glowing image of his little girl that Serena knew Blair had been so desperate to hold on to. And the thing was, Blair was all of those things - she _was _lovely, sweet and unbelievably adoring whenever her father was around. The softer side that no quivering freshman could ever imagine from the queen of the steps; and it was that Blair, smile of pure joy as she saw her daddy, that brought the tears to Serena's eyes.

All the faces and facets and layers and disguises of Blair Waldorf - and the little girl underneath. Her best friend.

Not even Harold - let alone Roman - would never know the Blair Waldorf who could be a bitch, who lashed out with sharpest of tongues and could cut down anyone she deemed inferior with a single glare. And they'd never love her regardless of it. They'd never understand.

"She was," Nate agreed, quietly, and he took Serena's hand without her needing to say anything. Serena held on to his familiar warmth; and she was glad, so grateful that she had him. That even after everything, Nate was there - would always be there. She gave Eric's shoulder a little squeeze.

(And she was aware of it too, the gaping hole. Blair wasn't the only person missing. And she still didn't know what to think, but there was that quiet voice in the back of her head that knew, at the very least, that _he_ should be here. That this was _wrong._)

* * *

Since a particular night - a year ago, now - with a psychopath that Chuck would rather not remember, he'd been perpetrating the line that sex meant nothing. Because it really had meant nothing that night - a physical act that hadn't even been that enjoyable. Its only benefit was the legendary reputation that it had achieved him. If anything, sex was a means to end. A mix of business and pleasure.

(And in some ways, the loss of intrigue was disappointing.)

Girls were more than happy to throw themselves at him, and he was more than happy to play along. He'd experimented since - anything to try and recapture the intrigue, work out what you were supposed to do so that it was actually _good. _It could only improve with practice.

And even if he _hadn't _been doing anything, it would have been the assumption anyway.

But he'd had a rule so far - no one from school. No one Blair knew. He stuck to hotel staff. And even if neither of them acknowledged it, they both knew it was a rule.

Which was why what she'd just said, now, had temporarily shut him up.

"You want me to sleep with Penelope," he repeated slowly. He studied her. Was she serious?

"She's been out of line for a long time now." Blair's answer was dismissive, but he'd seen the gleam in her eye. She was fully aware of the implications of what she was saying. "She's planning a coup. I found out yesterday that she's the one who spread those rumours about Serena going down on that Dalton guy."

Chuck picked up on that instantly. Yesterday. Blair Waldorf's retribution was dealt as soon as was humanly possible - if she'd waited a day, then this was something she'd been working over.

He tilted his head, and she gazed right back. Defiantly.

"Well?"

"Apparently revenge wasn't the only lesson you got from out little movie session," he mused at last. Still watching her. On the one hand, it wasn't too surprising - if there was one thing Blair adored, it was public humiliation. She _would _have picked up on that from Cruel Intentions. She was the only one in that room, besides him, who might have considered just how effective Katherine and Sebastian's techniques were in implementing her own schemes.

But the seduction?

She knew as well as he did that admitting something so heinous was a bold move - but then, he _was _the only person she'd ever admit it to. Against the brick wall round the corner from the courtyard - out of sight.

He suddenly smirked. "And what would my reward be?" He leaned a little closer. Staring her down, his gaze leveling those wide brown eyes. After all, Katherine had offered herself to Sebastian...

He was sure her breath had hitched, but she was already rolling her eyes. She didn't move away, though. "You get to humiliate someone. And have sex. What more do you want?"

"And why would I want to have sex with Penelope?"

She looked at him silently, at that. "You've done worse."

For the briefest second, he was silent too; and his smirk almost twisted into a grimace. And for an even briefer second, she looked like she regretted it - too far.

"Will you do it?" she asked instead. (And he knew that switching tacks was proof that she _had_ regretted saying it).

He smiled, close enough to catch her chin. "Oh, I'll do it."

* * *

The ordeal was finally over - the last of the mourners were leaving the Waldorf penthouse, and Eleanor didn't stop, even then; she kept herself going, accepting how sorry they were for her loss, how lovely the funeral had been - just a little longer. Nearly there.

Serena, Eric and Nate were among the last. Eleanor managed the smallest of tight smiles as she watched them leave, the three of them huddled together. Going home to their parents. Roman was with Harold, pressed together, silently.

And Eleanor stood alone, watching her home empty till it was just her. Completely alone.

Blair wasn't going to come down the stairs so that her mother could point out the flaws in her appearance, instruct her to change her dress. Eleanor wasn't going to tell her tomorrow, at breakfast, that she should stick to low fat yoghurt. Eat all her grapes. She wouldn't be able to snap at her daughter to get out of her way so that she could finish her designs, or rush to her next meeting. Not a swift peck to top of the girl's head, or an impatient push to get her out of the door.

Once Harold and Roman left, the penthouse would be silent. When Eleanor finally got to relax, she would have exactly the peace she'd always needed in her own home. Blair wouldn't be up in her room, finishing her homework. She wouldn't get any more letters about teachers' meetings that she didn't have time to attend. No more flickers of guilt, brushed aside because her daughter _would understand_ when she had to cancel plans for birthdays. Work came first. There was nothing, now, for work to take precedence over.

The harshness of Eleanor's breath refused to escape; she clamped down her lips firmly, stiffly, and told her ex-husband she was going to change - the last of the guests were almost out of the door, and she'd be back to sort everything else out in a moment. Just a moment.

It was only once she was alone in the bathroom, door shut, that her breath finally escaped. Shuddering. She was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Just like she'd always told her daughter she needed to be.

Even as her breath heaved, the burning foreign in her eyes, she was turning the faucet on, already splashing the water on her face to remove all traces of her tears. Splashing again and again - because every time she thought she'd composed herself, she suddenly couldn't _breathe._

She wouldn't have to listen out for the running water in her daughter's bathroom anymore.

It was twenty minutes later that she finally re-emerged. She was upright again, face clear and pale. She'd barely even recognised the face in that bathroom - wrecked and uncontrolled and haggard and _old._

She was ready to clear up, mind already moving, automatically, through the tasks that needed to be accomplished before she went to bed. Caterers tipped, homes for the flowers, headstone checked, Laurel emailed, her dress dropped in for dry-cleaning, proofs read over, a phone call to Mr. Zachary, space for the painting she'd ordered last month, hairdresser's; Blair would need an appointment too, she -

And she stopped.

And this time, as the tears fell, she made no move to stop them.

"Eleanor?"

She turned, blindly, and was dimly aware that Cyrus Rose was standing before her.

"What are you doing here? You don't know my daughter." It came out cold and hostile, but there were still tears blurring her vision even as she drew herself upright, an invisible barrier.

"I know." He gazed up at her, his funny familiar face furrowed with concern. "But I would've liked to. I actually came for you."

She just stared at him.

"I was just about to book a hairdresser's appointment," she said numbly. "That no one would have turned up to." Her shoulders were shaking even as her tall, imposing frame somehow stayed erect. "And then they would have called to ask when my daughter was coming."

She wasn't prepared for what happened next; because suddenly, she found herself enfolded in a hug by the man. Her automatic reaction was to go entirely rigid. He held on, though, pressing her closer. And they must have made a funny image - his head so much shorter than hers, her body so stiff against his.

And for a moment, she just stood there.

When she collected herself, she managed to step away. Disentangle his arms. She was already wiping her eyes, breathing returned to normal. Pulling herself up again.

She held him, formally, at arms length.

"Thank you." Her voice was still somewhat awkward, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she'd just broken down in front of practically a stranger.

(Well, perhaps not quite a stranger. But someone inappropriate, nonetheless.)

But there was frank, honest empathy on Cyrus' face. And no awkwardness at all. Or, even worse - pity.

"I'm sorry."

She nodded.

He seemed to understand, though. He gave her hands a squeeze before she could say anything else, breaking down the barrier again. If just for a second.

"I'll see myself out. But if you ever need anything, I'm always here." He gave her a smile, and she felt her chin wobble again for a dangerous second. All she could do was nod, again.

He squeezed her fingers once more, and then moved away.

* * *

Sophia Reichman was the sophomore any girl entering Constance high school needed to impress. And any boy - high school or middle school - wanted to sleep with. She was effortlessly tall, with a perfect pout, flawless skin and the richest red hair you'd ever seen.

Eighth grade was well under way, and plans needed to be made if Blair was to have any social standing once she moved on to high school. Serena was already sorted - half the freshmen boys were already in love with her, and Carter Baizen himself was rumored to have a thing for her. In addition to which, her exploits meant that she was on Gossip Girl, sometimes, even more than Sophia was.

Chuck had his reputation, and Nate was already golden lacrosse and soccer boy.

Unfortunately heading all the middle school societies and maintaining a perfect A+ record did not do the same for Blair Waldorf. It wasn't enough. She needed to climb up herself.

And for that, she already had a plan.

Over the past year, her game with Chuck had worked flawlessly. She'd faced no opposition from any minion for several months now, and his reputation had spread, supposedly, as far as Brooklyn and beyond. Not that they cared about Brooklyn. But there wasn't a single school on the Upper East Side that hadn't heard of an infamous thirteen year-old womanizer called Chuck Bass.

Including Sophia Reichman.

And Sophia Reichman knew that Blair Waldorf was the only girl in middle school that - for whatever reason - actually had any sway over Chuck Bass.

Their deal was simple.

Except that Blair couldn't quite bring herself to...ask him. Not like that. _Chuck, could you sleep with Sophia so that she'll notice me?_ And she didn't need to, either. _Chuck, Sophia Reichman needs to be destroyed. _That was far easier to ask, made far more sense. And when he hadn't hesitated to agree - _for you? Any time - _she'd felt that weird twist in her stomach that she was gradually coming to accept just might be guilt. But it was too late, anyway; Chuck had already set out to sleep with her.

And what was the big deal? He was going to do it anyway.

She told herself this several times.

Except, of course, when he found out. Which didn't take very long at all. And she knew, deep down, that he was always going to find out.

He'd watched her as she sat with Sophia on the Met steps - the first eighth grader to ever get that honour - and, even more impressive, been invited to the older girl's annual soiree. Even _Serena _had no hope of being invited to that.

And she'd felt sick, right to her stomach, aware the entire time of his eyes on her. Laughing with Sophia. Laughing at him.

(Except she wasn't, at all).

She'd sensed him leave shortly after, and the yoghurt in her pot had never tasted more unappetizing. But she'd quite deliberately stayed - you didn't leave lunch on the steps. That would have made her entire scheme pointless.

She hadn't seen him again till sex ed - which was, cringily, always mixed. He'd been put next to her at the beginning of the year, in the vain hope that seating him with biggest teacher's pet in the class would somehow make him behave.

He usually knocked up late, smirking at her as soon as he entered, occasionally making a point of slamming his books down just to provoke her. He _delighted _in watched her during the class, whispering the dirtiest comments possible into her ear. Just to get a reaction. (But he was always subtly careful not to push her too far; regardless of what he did, he wouldn't get her in trouble. Because, much as he mocked her for it, he knew the importance of her flawless grades).

They were meant to be doing condoms that day. The class she knew for a fact that he couldn't _wait _for. A practical.

But he didn't turn up until halfway through - late, even for him. He didn't look at her as came in, either. Treated the teacher's sharp comment with his usual eye roll and took his seat. Still not looking at her.

"What happened to you?" she demanded once the teacher had gone back to helping people around the class. She had the stupid banana and the condom in front of her - no way was she attempting it by herself. Not when people could see.

He just shrugged.

Picked up the banana. "Are we doing this, or what?"

She blinked - because that, she hadn't been expecting. He was definitely mad - so she'd been anticipating being ignored. Or him just being cruel. Not...indifferent.

He rolled the condom on in one swift motion and set it down. That was that.

No jokes. No lewd comments. She couldn't even complain, because he'd done exactly what they were supposed to be doing. She'd half expected him to just refuse to do it - watch her attempts and mock her for them. At the moment, she would almost have preferred that.

She tried hard not to stare at him, struggling to work out what tactic to use. She couldn't confront him - not when he wasn't doing anything. She couldn't bring herself to either; _she _was the one who'd been planning on acting like everything was normal.

The rest of the half hour was unbearable.

Chuck didn't ignore her. But he didn't really speak to her, either. Not properly. She didn't get one single real smile out of him, and they both knew it. And it was easy to mask, when they were both supposed to be paying attention anyway.

She was usually the one pinching him under the table to get him to shut up while he smirked into her ear.

After the class, she wondered if he'd walk off without waiting for her - but he didn't. He moved carelessly along the corridor with her, like always - but it wasn't the same, and again, they both knew it. He knew damn well.

"Are you coming to Serena's tonight?" She kept the question casual, even inserting an eye roll - "Apparently we'll get to meet Klaus."

"I can't."

"Why not?" She hadn't entirely meant for the edge in her voice - but maybe, subconsciously, she was trying to push him. Because damnit, she did not make polite _small talk _with Chuck. And she _knew _he was mad. She was almost half hoping he'd refuse to give a reason.

"Uncle Jack's coming from Australia. We're going out to dinner."

Blair wondered if the 'we' included Bart. She doubted it. "I didn't know he was visiting."

Chuck just shrugged. He was too good to leave it at that, though - a shrug and non-answer she could complain about. "Their father isn't well."

Harisson Bass would never be _grandfather_ to Chuck; he'd seen the man once. When he was about five. Blair wasn't too sure of the exact details - because Chuck wasn't, either - but from what she gathered, Bart didn't speak to the old man at all any more. He'd been cut off completely.

(Chuck thought that the story went something like: Bart had grown up in a middle class family, his much younger brother either an attempt to save a failing marriage, or evidence of a mother's affair. And it was unclear whether his father's alcoholism had been the reason for - or the result of - his mother walking out on them one day. Perhaps it was a Bass trait, losing the women they loved. In any case, Bart had got out on sheer determination alone, and built his own empire out of nothing. And wanted nothing more to do with anything that resembled his childhood).

Blair bit her lip. Before she could ask any more though, Chuck had told her he was late for his next class, and disappeared with a simple tilt of his head.

It carried on for the rest of the week - and Blair couldn't bear it. It was like he'd declared Cold War on her - and they were the only ones who knew it. She'd tried to ask Serena if she'd noticed anything, nonchalantly, but Serena had looked confused.

"Why? Did he do something?"

Blair had just said no and changed the subject. Even she couldn't bring herself to tell Serena what she'd done. And she couldn't actually articulate what it was - because, technically, she hadn't done anything too awful. And, technically, he wasn't doing anything in retaliation.

And Chuck was the only other person who knew what a load of crap that was.

Finally, she snapped.

They'd been in the middle of a perfectly civil conversation when Sophia had strutted past, reminding her with a smirk that she'd better not be late for the soiree tomorrow. Blair's eyes had slid to Chuck, but his face had been a perfect mask. He'd said goodbye and moved off to go in their separate directions - and she stood there for a second, nails pressed into her hand, irrationally furious. Because Chuck was _just _as irrational as she was - and she couldn't take these tactics any more.

So she'd decided enough was enough, and run after him; he'd been about to get into his limo when she stopped him.

"Bass," she snapped. "What is your _problem_?"

"My problem?" His voice was smooth. "What are you talking about, Waldorf?" But his gaze was cool, appraising her. Almost challenging her to bring it up.

Well, fine. She'd had _enough._

"It was a game," she snapped. "That's it, remember? You got to sleep with a hot girl, and I got a step up the hierarchy. What's wrong with that?"

And finally, the first crack in his mask. The first flicker as he gazed right back. "You manipulated me." His voice was low, but she could hear the anger underneath. Cold.

"I did what was necessary!"

"What?" he sneered, anger rising - "So you could throw yourself at Sophia Reichman's feet? Crawling around carrying out favors for her?"

She tried not to flinch. "I wasn't _crawling_ around," she spat. "We had a deal."

"A deal where you gave her what she wanted in exchange for the bottom Met step?"

"No one in middle school has even got onto the steps before!" She was aware of how ridiculous she sounded - but it was true, and he knew that. Only he knew how_ important_ it was -

"And if you'd taken her down," he snapped, "You could've had the top step."

She floundered, temporarily knocked because she knew it was true. But she couldn't admit it - the humiliation of exactly what she'd hoped he wouldn't find out; and she couldn't face it. The knowledge that he was right, and she was wrong.

"It's just sex," she insisted instead. "You said sex meant nothing. It doesn't mean anything to you!"

For a moment, he just looked at her. Silent. Because regardless of whether or not it meant nothing to him - they both knew the big deal she made of it. And that was what this was really about, he knew. Punishment. For Georgina, still.

"I have to get home," he said abruptly. "Bart's expecting me."

She stared at him, trembling with anger. Wanting to say something, anything - "Fine," she managed at last.

And she stood there, still shaking, as the limo drove off.

* * *

Lily was still there when Bart arrived at the Ostroff that evening. She'd already received texts from Nate and Eric, asking if they could come - and she'd firmly refused them. It wouldn't do either of them any good to see Chuck right now. He hadn't said a single word the entire day.

Bart hadn't thought his son could look any more lifeless. He was wrong. He'd been expecting anger, at the very least. But Chuck didn't even look up when Bart came in. Finally, at his father's increasingly sharp summons of his name, his gaze lifted. Black, burning eyes.

"What?"

Lily hadn't realised it was possible for one word to convey that much of a sneer, and still sound quite so hollow.

"I said, I'm sorry." Bart's voice was unbearably stiff - and Bart never apologised, ever. Least of all to his own son. To anyone else, it may not even have sounded like an apology, it was so curt. But _sorry _had never been a word traded between father and son.

For a moment, Chuck didn't say anything - and both Lily and Bart thought he wasn't going to bother answering. Bart was on the verge of turning away when his son's voice finally sounded.

"I'm not going to kill myself. I don't _care _enough. So you should stop wasting your money." Bart looked at him, penetrating - but there was still nothing. "I'm not suicidal," he said dully. "Never was."

"What are you talking about?" Bart demanded. "You told the police-"

"Sorry for wasting your time." His lip curled, almost of its own accord - and for one moment, he didn't even look human."I lied."

* * *

**A.N. - Thank you so much for your lovely reviews! It means so much to me, that people are willing to read this despite all the depression! And I realise present-day Chuck is rather passive at the moment - but don't worry, he's coming back. Well, as much as he can without Blair...he will have motivation. Soon. The story IS heading somewhere! And the flashbacks are all connected, even if they don't seem to be at the moment.**

**Also, I'm hoping people know the characters/story from Cruel Intentions, based on Les Liaisons Dangereuses - pretty sure it's on Google if not :)**


	8. Chapter 8

"What did Dr. Horace say?"

Serena and Eric were in their rooms; there was no danger of them hearing their mother's conversation in Bart's study. (Lily had never thought she'd see the day when Serena was in at ten - her daughter hadn't been out once the entire vacation.) They'd both agreed, without needing to confer, to say nothing yet of what Chuck had told them. To anyone; and especially to their children.

Bart just shook his head. Curt. "It's on record, obviously." They'd eventually managed to get out of Chuck that he'd told the therapist too. "And," he sighed, "He's recommended that Charles is ready to be released." His lip curled.

Lily paused. "Maybe it would be good for him," she admitted. "To get out of there." She'd learnt her lesson with Eric - the Ostroff center may have kept him safe, but it hadn't made him any happier. She was reluctant to make that same mistake with Chuck. "Maybe if he was at home-"

Bart cut her off with a single jerk of his head. "The suicide pact is the only thing stopping a full-on murder investigation. At least if he's in the Ostroff, they can't charge him." His voice was hard and weary. "If the police find out he lied to them, it'll be far worse if he's _not _committed."

Lily closed her lips. She could see the sense in Bart's argument, but she couldn't help thinking, briefly, that Chuck was imprisoned either way. She'd trusted the professionals to take care of her own son, but it was different with Chuck. She could already see nothing was working. For some reason it had always been easier to take a step back with Charles - in some ways, he was easier to figure out than her biological children. Maybe it was because she didn't have the same lifetime of mistakes with him.

Her husband was right, though.

"What are we going to do once they find out?" she sighed.

"I'm working on it," was Bart's flat answer. "If everything goes to plan, they won't."

Lily glanced at him. "Can Horace be paid off?"

"It's being sorted."

She wasn't sure if that meant blackmail or bribery - but she obviously wasn't going to get anything else out of him. And she wasn't surprised, either. This was what they did to protect their children. "What if they find anything else?" she pressed finally.

Bart gave her a sharp look. "Like what?"

But all she was doing was making sure all their bases were covered. Because if this did get out, and the police found out they'd actively tried to cover it -

"It's actually irrelevant," Bart stated, "Whether or not he was suicidal. The point is whether Blair was. And that's a separate investigation entirely. It has nothing to do with Charles."

Lily glanced at him. Bart had never actively stood up for his son before, or shown any visible sign that he believed him - or even in him. He'd always been the boy's biggest critic. But when it came down to it, Lily realised, he knew. Chuck would never have been capable of murdering Blair in cold blood.

She was about to respond, when there was the sound of the elevator. Both rose to their feet, instantly, Bart's stride out of the door first. Lily's stomach already knotted at the knowledge that it could well be Detective Brown. Her mask was already slipping into place as she followed her husband, ready to lie.

It wasn't Detective Brown.

"How's it going, big brother?"

They were met with wide grin, and Lily could already see the line of Bart's displeasure.

"Jack."

The contrast between the two brothers - Bart erect and sharp; Jack, suit rumpled, face creased and eyes a little bloodshot - was, for a moment, striking. Lily reflected that it was probably because they were so rarely in the same room as each other (even on the fleeting occasions Jack did make it over from Australia) to compare in the first place.

Even under his off-colour appearance - alcohol and whatever else on a twenty eight hour flight would do that to you, Lily bet - there was that dark, not entirely clean allure to Jack. The devilish smirk more befitting a teenager. She wasn't much more a fan of the man than his own brother was. Whenever Jack turned up, there was inevitably trouble.

And more trouble was the last thing any of them needed now.

* * *

Chuck wasn't in school the next day. Blair knew, because she'd had the night to come up with a thousand different scenarios. Most of them involving revenge. Chuck didn't get to tell her she was _debasing _herself for Sophia Reichmann (she couldn't let him, because it was too humiliating). She'd decided there was, at least, no way he could keep up the civil front after their confrontation by his limo the day before - but she wasn't sure she'd like what would come any better. Cold war turning into all-out war? She was still dissatisfied, still angry (and still upset, more than she'd ever let on).

But there was no sign of him.

They had sex ed that day, too - it was exactly a week since this whole nightmare had started.

Chuck didn't usually skip school altogether. That wasn't to say he went to classes even when he did turn up - but he had plenty of other reasons to make sure he was there. He always needed to be on top of everything, after all. He missed out on too many schemes and scandals if not. And he'd never missed a single sex ed class since he'd been put next to Blair.

The only reason he wouldn't show up for a whole day was if something had happened. If he needed another country, or to hole up in his suite. And Blair wasn't stupid enough to think that their argument was enough for that, regardless of how pissed he was.

Not even Nate knew where he was - but he had soccer practice, and couldn't stop for long to worry about it. He'd given Blair a reassuring smile, like always - "He probably just had a wild night."

But Blair still wasn't satisfied. Because unlike Nate, Chuck usually _did _turn up after a wild night - uniform casually immaculate, sunglasses and the back row ready for him catch up on sleep if necessary.

They had homework from sex ed, too (an essay on safe sex, for God's sake - just when she'd thought the class couldn't get any worse); and, naturally, Blair had been told to pass it on to her absent partner.

Which was why she was currently walking through the Palace foyer, outfit for the night's soiree carefully selected and her make-up, toiletteries and pyjamas waiting the in car outside. And that was the only reason - she would drop Chuck's assignment off, as expected, and then head straight to Sophia's. (Never mind that Chuck probably wouldn't do the assignment anyway, and it was highly unlikely that he'd need any of her notes even if he did - if anything, he could help write _hers_, since she knew full well that he 'handled his business'. Whatever that meant).

But she'd been asked to do it, and Blair Waldorf _would_ carry out her teacher's instructions.

He'd given her a key to his suite a while back, when they'd needed to recon for a scheme at one of Bart's brunches. Luckily - because she doubted he'd let her in, now, once he saw who it was.

She clasped her hands in the elevator as it climbed, summoning the anger she'd worked up over the past night. She'd go in, give him the damn assignment, tell him she hated him, and then leave. (After demanding to know why he hadn't been in school).

She hesitated for the briefest moment outside his suite, aware that he might well be in there with some skank. Or even two. Not something she wanted to witness. Then again, maybe it would be more ammunition for her argument - that sex was nothing special to Chuck Bass, and she hadn't done anything wrong. (Point one was irrelevant, and point two was a lie. But anyway).

She braced herself and slid the key into the lock, turning the handle. And marched in, head high, assignment brandished.

Her gaze zeroed straight in on the bed - and, sure enough, Chuck was there. But she had to stop for a moment as she took him in. Thrown.

Because he was sitting on the bed, alone, with the television on. And she knew something was really wrong when she realised that there was some kind of chat show playing. Chuck may occasionally have entertained himself with other people's disasters, but he didn't have much interest in the trash those kinds of shows interviewed. There wasn't even a hysterical confrontation going on at the moment - the host was in the middle of counseling the couple.

"The most important thing here is honesty. Chris, you need to look in the mirror and really _see_..."

Blair lip curled faintly as she read the caption on the screen - _I think my boyfriend may have given me an STD - _but her attention was really on Chuck, who wasn't even pretending to watch.

"Waldorf. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Blair picked up on it instantly - there was definitely something weird about his voice.

She approached, piece of paper clutched in her hand. "I was going to give you your sex ed assignment," she retorted. "But I see you've already decided to educate yourself." Her eyes flickered back to the screen for a second, and he followed them, only just seeming aware of what was on it.

His mouth twisted faintly, in something that almost resembled amusement. "I always said school was a waste of time."

"Why weren't you there today?" It had meant to be a demand, but she was too busy watching him. Studying him, silently.

He glanced back at her. "Why do you care? I thought you weren't speaking to me?"

"_Me?" _She couldn't help but glare, at that. "You're the one who's been treating me like one of your father's business associates for the past week." Chuck raised an eyebrow - but she wasn't about to let him get away with it. She was already too worked up - that anger she'd been working on in the elevator slipping through. "You asked me about the _weather_!"

Damn. What had happened to giving him the assignment and leaving? This was not part of the plan. She wasn't meant to be showing him he'd got to her.

He regarded her in silence for a few seconds. "So what are you doing here, then?"

She couldn't help but deflate a little under his penetrating gaze. And the sense that something still wasn't entirely right. "I came to give you the assignment," she grumbled. "I told you. I'm not getting into trouble with Mr. Posner." She moved closer, though, carefully balancing on the end of his bed. A safe distance between them, where she set the assignment down. "What happened? Why didn't you come to school?"

He looked for a moment like he wasn't going to respond. But Blair stayed where she was, watching.

And finally, he admitted, "Harrison died this morning." She got the weirdness in his voice then - he didn't know himself what it was. How he was supposed to react.

She was silent. She knew he'd never known the old man - so he could never really feel the loss of a grandfather. Which, she figured, was just as confusing. What were you meant to do with that, after all? She shifted a little further back on the bed - moving, cautiously - instinctively - closer to him. Waiting for him to go on.

"It was just weird," Chuck muttered. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling, propped on his back. "Lying in a bed for days, waiting to die. Couldn't even go to the bathroom himself." He tried to sound derisive, but it was a little too sharp. "Jack did the smart thing and bailed, but Bart had to act like he felt sorry for him." A snort that fell flat. It wasn't the death that had freaked him out, Blair realised. Which made sense. The idea of lying there without control was far worse.

She couldn't imagine having to sit in a hospital while that was happening. Waiting for someone to die.

Without looking at him, she moved further back till she was sitting against the pillows next to him, and picked up the remote. Her arm brushed his, briefly, as she did so, settling back.

"You still have Tiffany's on subscription, right?" She was already switching it over to the movie menu.

She felt Chuck glance at her, his eyes resting on her for a moment. "I'm not watching Tiffany's," he stated. "Do I look like I want to spend my evening listening to you quote that damn Cat scene?" She wondered if he was pushing her, unable to believe she was actually staying. Well, he wouldn't get rid of her that easy.

"It can't be any worse than the garbage you were just watching," she shot back. "STDs, Bass? Really?"

She felt it, for a second, the flicker of his real smile. Just a hint. But he was still staring at her, carefully.

"What about your soiree?" he sneered at last.

But she knew he was only sneering because he wasn't sure, so she just rolled her eyes.

"What about it?"

And that settled that.

* * *

As he'd suspected, Brown had gained nothing from talking to any of Blair's teachers - other than the fact that she'd showed no signs of being suicidal. The message was the same, each time; not a single slip in any piece of work, grades flawless. Asked if she'd seemed happy, and the answer had been a little less clear - determined, was the response most of them came up with. Striving. Ambitious.

But not depressed.

Marie had already been over his findings. She'd observed something he hadn't, though - none of them really seemed to know Blair Waldorf. There had been no real affection from any of them - no strong feelings of either like or dislike. She was a model student, and that was that.

Marie had noticed something else, too, after she'd read the girl's school reports. While every teacher had been quite clear that Blair Waldorf was destined for Yale, and desperate to get in - she hadn't done anything in the past year beyond what was required. Which, she pointed out to Brown, was strange for someone who was clearly more than willing to go above and beyond for her goals.

Brown had argued back that it wasn't exactly conclusive. And he was right - it wasn't evidence, but Marie had noticed it nonetheless.

She'd done even more digging, and, as expected, small cracks had eventually emerged. Dig deep enough into anyone's life, she knew, and there would be something.

Her father had left Manhattan for another man when she was fifteen.

She'd been treated for bulimia.

Her mother worked in fashion, where perfection and criticism went hand in hand.

Marie had studied photos of the girl carefully - she was rarely alone in any of them. Quite a few were cuddled up with her daddy, but in most of them, she was slotted between the blonde girl and the dark boy - and the other blond boy too - but Blair was nearly always in the middle, buried. The blonde girl tugging on her arm, the dark boy gripping her waist. And one's eye couldn't help but be drawn, automatically, to the much taller blonde, rather than the brunette in her shadow.

Then again, when Marie compared those photos with the few shots of Blair either by herself, or in a posed picture - with the hockey team, say, or the choir - the former set were the only ones where she actually seemed to be having a good time. The rest were all just that bit too rigid. She only seemed relaxed when she was in that little four, flanked by Serena or Chuck.

Marie had obtained medical records - Blair had been on the pill from the age of fifteen, and never missed a single prescription - she'd been prescribed Lexapro a few times, and treated by a Dr. Sherman for the bulimia.

But Brown had pointed out that none of these things were exactly unusual for an Upper East Side princess - overbearing mother, absent father, eating disorder, occasional reliance on prescription drugs, best friend insecurities - they were a way of life for most of these people.

Marie had searched Blair's room; everything neat and organized, plans everywhere. It had been the discovery in the bathroom that she considered the first breakthrough.

Wedged into the cabinet, and entirely concealed by rows of cosmetics and folded towels, was a scrapbook. And upon opening it, Marie had seen that the pages were largely ruined, stained with water. She could just make out the meticulous drawings and cut outs, carefully colored in and labelled - ranging from prom to cotillion to wedding, childish handwriting still freakishly neat.

She'd questioned the parents - neither had seemed overly aware of the book's existence, but neither were surprised either; and Harold had eventually recalled pouring over the pages with his daughter as a little girl while she displayed each one. Apparently Blair hadn't mentioned it since, but Eleanor had stated that she wouldn't be surprised if the girl had still looked at it even as a teenager.

They had no idea about it being ruined, or what it was doing in the bathroom.

Brown had suggested, equally, that it was more likely it had been an accident - shoved into the cabinet, perhaps, because Blair hadn't wanted to throw it away. It still wasn't enough to imply anything else.

Marie had still noted it down, and taken several photos - noting, too, that the cabinet was right next to the bulimic girl's toilet.

But there wasn't much besides that.

The most she'd obtained from the girl's room, regarding her relationship with Chuck Bass, was their closeness. Physically, in all of the photos; the traces of him hidden in every inch, from the dresses and jewelry he'd bought her to his aftershave in the bathroom.

She'd investigated Blair's phone, too. (Taken in with the girl's body). But it hadn't shown much else - all of her sent messages were deleted. Marie had picked apart the inbox, unsurprised to note that the only person who texted her more than Chuck was Serena. There were various other texts from names like Iz, Kati and Hazel (Marie made a note for future questioning) - but most of them were deferential in nature, and largely gossip, where people were referred to only with their initials. There were texts from Nate, too, which was to be expected - but again, nothing significant.

Chuck's tended to be shorter than Serena's - things like _Morning beautiful _or _See you at 7 _- no gushing proclamations of love that one might have expected from a teenager's phone. Which could be read as indifference, or - more likely - a sign that theirs was not a typical teen romance. They were the texts of two people who knew each other.

A large amount of Serena's texts were either apologetic, informing her she was running late, or encouraging - trying to drag Blair out - or drunk. A lot of them were sweet, too, and always exuberant.

No reference anywhere to the night of March 3rd, other than a text from Nate at around ten, asking if she knew where Chuck was and if he was up for going out - and then, later, several from Serena asking what was going on and where she was.

The call log showed a slightly different picture - calls to and from Chuck most late nights, and a long list of ignored calls from Serena that final late night, March 3rd.

If Chuck and Blair had discussed suicide, either they hadn't done it on the phone, or someone (Blair or Chuck, it was possible) had removed the evidence that they had.

The only other thing worth noting was the Gossip Girl site - a large chunk of Blair's texts and emails comprised of blasts from whoever the anonymous girl was. The texts were gossip, again, but far bitchier in nature. And it was obvious from reading them that they were sent out widely. Again, the history on Blair's laptop was wiped blank, the only documents saved photos or assignments. After googling the site, though, Marie made a note of its equal fixation with not just Blair, but Chuck, Serena and Nate too.

Again, Brown had pointed out - cyber bullying was nothing new. These kids were active participants themselves.

But Marie Winslet hadn't gained her prestige in the NYPD for being anything other than meticulous in her analysis. She was building a file, slowly. She'd already decided that her next step was to call Serena van der Woodsen into the station.

* * *

Chuck knew it was a cliche. The whole girl-falls-asleep-on-boy's-shoulder had been done by every lame romantic comedy possible - and, to make it worse, he'd always scoffed at them no end. _Ridiculed _them.

But when he woke up that morning, Blair Waldorf was not just on his shoulder, but his chest. He should've known - they were both as bad as each other for hogging space. They'd somehow ended up in the course of the night so that her dark curls were tangled under his chin, her hand splayed in his lap and - _damn _it_ - _the curve of her waist nestled over his crotch. And, of course, he was hard.

But he was Chuck Bass.

He did _not _get awkward around girls. Especially not Blair Waldorf. She was hot, she was pressed against him, and he was Chuck Bass. Really, she should have been expecting it. If anything, it was her fault.

But he was still doing it. Watching her sleep. Like the stalker that he was. And the weight of her head on him was so very real; he could feel her lashes against his chest, and she smelt like sleep.

_Jesus. _

Enough was enough.

"Waldorf."

He nudged her, catching her shoulder. She groused, annoyed even in her half awake state at being disturbed - and her eyes opened, reluctantly. It took her a second - but that second was the funniest thing Chuck had ever seen. As she realised that a) she was in Chuck's bed, b) she was practically in his lap, sprawled on _top _of him, and c) as she went to move, she found herself level with his...lower body.

She moved away so fast he swore she'd get whip lash, head jerking up anywhere but where it had been, yelp of horror already escaping her throat. Awkwardness? He was dealing with _Blair. _

"What the hell are you doing, Bass?"

"Believe me, that was all you," he smirked.

Her hand moved to her mouth, and he watched her realise - horrified - that she'd been _drooling. _On Chuck. More specifically, into his shirt. Blair Waldorf did not drool.

And he couldn't help it. He was grinning like an idiot, because Blair Waldorf was the most hilarious girl in the world.

"This is not funny," she all but screeched. "You molested me!" When what she really meant was : I drooled on you. I, Blair Waldorf, drooled on Chuck Bass.

She went to slap him, but he caught them both off guard and caught her wrist before she could. It fit, easily, into his grasp.

His mouth was still curved, but he was aware of that stirring in his stomach. The jittery curling that he might have called a fluttering had it not sounded so...undignified. But he was gazing down at her, not just those wide brown eyes and rumpled curls - but _Blair_, everything about her summed up from the second she'd stormed into his suite. He'd felt it last night, her warmth against him as she watched the movie she'd seen exactly fifty nine times, as aware of him as he was of her, and still not needing to say anything.

"Relax, Waldorf. Nothing happened." His voice was low.

She stilled. Swallowed. Then forced a scowl. "It better not have done." Still, she was regarding him back now.

And he could have counted her lashes, his eyes drinking her in as they both sat on his bed, her wrist still curled in his hand. She gazed at him in silence, and he saw the flicker in her eyes. She was still looking at him as she moved her head, just that fraction - and it was enough for him to move his too. Instinctive.

Her lips brushed his for the briefest of seconds, but he was the one to pull back first. He studied her, aware of his heart thudding as he took in each detail of her face, almost waiting. Searching. Fingers still threading her lower arm.

And something coiled inside of her, the wild twist of a spring that sent her forwards, lips colliding with his this time as she leaned up on the mattress to pull herself closer. He was the one to deepen the kiss as his hand tangled in her hair, and her own small hands caught his shoulders, pressing ever closer.

His tongue was exploring her mouth when she let herself go, seeking entry into his with equal hunger. She didn't realise what she was doing till they were on the silk of the comforter and the curves of her body were pressed into him, his hot fingers moving over her as her own sought the hollow of his throat, the thickness of his hair. She stopped, breathless, and pulled back.

He was still holding her waist, but he stopped too - dark eyes flickering over her, his chest rising with her own.

"What was that, Waldorf?" he managed at last, voice still raw.

Her teeth pressed into her lip.

"You tell me," she challenged back. She'd _kissed _him, and what if -

"You started it," he answered. There was a challenge in his voice too; but it was softer, harder to read. He was still watching her as she faltered, just the briefest half second.

But Blair Waldorf did not back down. She set her chin. "And you didn't stop it."

He paused. "Do you..." He looked like he couldn't quite get the sentence out - and she waited, holding herself very still. He just looked at her. "Blair." And she saw it then; felt it in the crease of his voice, the quiet burning in his eyes -

So she leaned closer, suddenly, and kissed him again, warmth of her lips brushing his. More slowly, more tentatively this time - and she felt him smile, quietly, into the kiss.

They broke apart and she gazed at him. A hint of her own smile, somewhere verging on a shy smirk, curved at her mouth.

* * *

Marie was good at getting answers, but the questioning had still been going an all afternoon. They had, at least, managed to contact Serena without the involvement of the Basses - and she'd turned up at the station alone. Marie had made the mistake, however, of thinking that the blonde would be easy. Serena van der Woodsen was a force to be reckoned with, and Marie had needed to adjust accordingly.

"Was is possible that you were jealous, Miss van der Woodsen?"

Serena stared at the investigator in incredulity. Genuine, not spiteful. "Of Blair?" Like the idea wasn't even considerable.

Marie pursed her lips. "Of Chuck."

Serena's frown was instant. "What? Why would I be jealous of him?"

"You were Blair's best friend, weren't you?"

Serena rolled her eyes. "Haven't you asked me this enough times?"

"You were her closest confidant, growing up? You said in one statement that you were practically sisters."

Serena's face softened for a moment. "Yes."

"It can't have been easy," the investigator reflected. "When she started going out with Chuck? When she was suddenly that close...to someone else?"

The frown was back as Serena stared at the woman. Trying to work out what she was getting at. "Blair and Chuck were always close. They were always whispering in corners when we grew up." Her tone was obstinate, but Marie hadn't missed the faintest prickle of bitterness.

"You didn't like that?"

Serena just shrugged. "It was Chuck. I guess I never shared their love for scheming. That's all."

"Still," the investigator pressed. "From the sounds of things, you were always number one in Blair's life. Apart from Chuck."

"Boys never came between us," Serena stated rigidly. "I was going out with Nate at the same time."

"On and off."

The blonde glared. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Marie's fingers steepled. "All I'm saying is...Blair was very close to Chuck. Would you have said she loved him more than she loved you?"

Serena was silent. "She loved us both the same," she snapped, finally. "It was just different. I was her best friend, and he was...Chuck. Boys never came between us," she repeated.

"But Chuck wasn't just any boy, was he?" The investigator lifted her brows. "As you said, he was...Chuck."

Serena just gave her a baleful look. Determinedly blank.

"Is it possible that she shared things with Chuck that she didn't share with you?"

"No." Serena's answer was immediate, angry. "I know where you're going with this. And, for the last time, my best friend was not suicidal."

Marie lifted her hands. "That's not what I was suggesting, Miss van der Woodsen. I just wondered if the idea of Blair telling Chuck things you didn't know...might have upset you."

"No. There was nothing about Blair I didn't know." Serena lifted her chin. "If anything, she told me things she didn't tell Chuck."

"What kind of things?"

Serena shifted her jaw. "Just things. Things she didn't want him to know. Things she'd never tell anyone but me."

"Things like her bulimia, for instance?"

Serena froze.

"We've seen her doctor's records," the investigator explained patiently. "It's procedure. Am I correct in thinking that you were the one who discovered that Blair was bulimic?"

"Yes." Serena swallowed. "I was the one who got her parents involved. She didn't want me to tell anyone, but...it got out of hand. I was scared for her."

"Were you aware that Chuck also knew of Blair's problem?"

This earned her another eye roll from the blonde. "Chuck knew everything," she scoffed. "He made it his business to find out. Especially if it was about Blair. That doesn't mean she told him." She shook her head. "She wouldn't have talked to him about it. Blair hated anyone to think she was weak. Especially Chuck. She would never have wanted him to know."

"But he knew nonetheless."

"So?"

"How did you discover Blair's bulimia?"

"I caught her after one dinner."

"Had you suspected anything before then?"

"No," Serena sighed. "Blair was very good at covering her tracks."

"So you realised straight after that? Just from catching her?"

"She broke down. She told me. I knew something was wrong, I just hadn't suspected that. But I was the only person she ever would have told."

The investigator nodded, slowly. "So do you think perhaps...you found out, because Blair wanted you to? A cry for help?"

Serena's tone was cold. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Marie enunciated, "That had Blair not told you, do you think you would have noticed?"

"Eventually," Serena answered at last. Firmly. "I told you, I knew something was wrong. I just wasn't sure exactly what. I knew my best friend."

Marie nodded placatingly; "No one is questioning that, Miss van der Woodsen." She exhaled. "The point I'm making is this. Blair told you everything, yes?"

Serena nodded fervently. Then, remembering the tape recorder - "Yes."

"And so you knew everything about her?"

"Yes."

"But there were things Blair didn't tell Chuck."

"Yes."

"But he knew them anyway."

Serena stopped. Finally seeing what the investigator was driving at. She held her tongue, staring at the woman.

"Isn't that right, Miss van der Woodsen?"

"I knew my best friend," she hissed.

"You knew what she told you. What she wanted you to see."

"No," Serena cried. "No, I knew her. I knew when something was wrong. Always."

"Always?"

"Yes!"

"Did you know when her father left?"

Serena went very still.

"Miss van der Woodsen?"

"I was away," she answered, at last, stiffly. "You know that, obviously. I was in Santorini for the summer."

"And when did you find out? As soon as you got back?"

Serena bit her lip, hard. "What's Chuck said to you?"

"Did Blair tell you about her parents' divorce as soon as you got back?"

"No," Serena snapped. But it faltered at the end. "No," she murmured. "She wasn't talking to me. She was angry with me, for leaving without saying goodbye."

"I understand you were dealing with a lot anyway?" The investigator's tone had switched to a softer, more sympathetic one. "You came back because your brother had made an attempt on his life?"

Serena bristled instantly. "The only reason," she retorted, hotly, "That I didn't know about Eric was because I was out of the country. I was being selfish, I know. I know that. But it wasn't a case of missing signs - I wasn't there. All right? I was in Santorini. That is the only reason. And that's the only reason I didn't know about Blair's dad. And the only reason Chuck did know was because he was there." She lifted her head. "But I haven't left since. I was with Blair for the rest of that year. Up until her death. And I know she wasn't suicidal."

The investigator had remained quite calm in the face of her rant, which only infuriated Serena further.

"How long," she asked, evenly, "Was it, before you knew about Blair's parents? After you got back?"

"One month," Serena finally spat. "Ok? Is that what you wanted to hear? Blair told me her dad was on business in Paris, and I believed her. But that doesn't mean-"

"And did she tell Chuck?"

Serena crossed her arms. "I have no idea."

"If you had to guess?" the investigator pushed, anyway. "Knowing Blair like you did?"

"I-" Serena deflated, a little. "No," she answered. Sullen. "No. If Eleanor wanted her to push that line, she wouldn't have told Chuck anything."

Marie regarded her in silence.

Serena practically bit her tongue. "She wouldn't have needed to," she spat at last. "Like I said, Chuck knew everything. She wouldn't have told him, but she wouldn't have bothered lying either."

The investigator nodded, once.

"Thank you, Miss van der Woodsen. I think we can call it a day there." She leaned forwards and switched the recording device off. "I appreciate your time."

Serena rose to her feet. She gave the woman a look, before stalking out with a furious toss of her golden hair. The door was slammed behind her, and Marie listened to her heels clacking down the corridor with a shake of her head.

The interview had strengthened her impression of Blair Waldorf; perhaps of what it had been like to love and be loved by two personalities as strong and polar as Serena van der Woodsen and Chuck Bass. Tossed between the two of them like two children - brother and sister - arguing over their favourite toy. Bart and Lily had apparently announced their engagement a couple of weeks after Serena's return from Santorini; and Marie wondered if that was when it had really kicked in.

What she was trying to work out was whether it was possible for Blair Waldorf's own best friend to not have realised she was suicidal. She may have been adamant, but was she just trying to blame Chuck? And was turning on her stepbrother something that had been brewing since she'd got back from Santorini and discovered that, not only did he have Blair when she didn't, but even her own mother seemed to adore him?

If her theory was correct, though, Marie was fairly sure it wouldn't even be conscious for the girl. The fight that was still going on - who knew Blair Waldorf better?

Serena van der Woodsen was young. She didn't seem to realise that there weren't any winners in this. A life had been lost, and that was unfair whichever side you were on.

And Marie would need a lot more evidence.

* * *

Blair had been the one to insist that no one could know.

"They'll think I'm sleeping with you! And I am _not _putting up with that defamation. I have a reputation, Bass."

It had been three weeks since she'd kissed him - three weeks of secret kisses in Chuck's suite and her bedroom - three weeks of doing the things they always did together, but with the secret thrill of knowing that everything was different. Serena had noticed, of course; she'd had the cheek to ask, playfully, why Blair was suddenly so happy.

"I'm in a good mood," she'd snapped. "It happens!"

Serena has just raised her eyebrows. Even Nate had commented - but they'd got nothing else out of the brunette.

Of course Chuck had enjoyed the sneaking around. But he knew Blair Waldorf.

They were in Blair's room now; he was sprawled on her bed watching her as she sorted through the photos on her laptop, resizing and removing any blemishes. They were also supposed to be plotting Sophia Reichmann's social destruction. She sat against the curve of his body, legs tucked underneath her as she tapped into the keyboard.

She was trying to focus on that, but she was equally aware of his heat behind her, his eyes on her - and it made her grin every now and then, secretly. (Not that she would ever admit that).

"I stand by the STD idea. Syphillis Sophia has a nice ring to it - Gossip Girl would have fun with one." His finger traced, idly, over her back as he mused. "They're both hot," he smirked as he saw her hesitate between two photos of her. "Delete that Serena one if you don't have space left."

She gave him a little elbow at that. "_No_." He grinned, of course - he'd only said it to wind her up. "But I like Syphillis Sophia," she added. Paused, tilting her head. "I can see it catching on."

"I don't know why anyone even bothers trying to cross us," Chuck sighed contentedly.

That made Blair smirk; a smirk that changed into a little shiver she had to repress when Chuck's hand ran further up her spine. It was a shiver of pleasure, but she still wasn't entirely used to it. The mere idea of sex still made her nervous, that guilty thrill she still didn't dare express to anyone. He felt the shiver and tugged her closer; and she found herself turning into him, his dark eyes holding hers.

She moved in almost on instinct, her lips brushing his. She smiled, quietly, as the kiss deepened and he pulled her even closer.

She was enjoying herself so much, so lost in the feel of his mouth on hers, that she barely noticed as her laptop slid away, pictures forgotten. She was on the verge of shifting so that she was further in his hold - when the door was suddenly sprung open.

"B, you'll never guess-"

Both Chuck and Blair froze as the familiar voice died out; and Blair's head darted round, instantly, to find herself staring at an absolutely shocked Serena. The way her mouth was hanging open was almost comical. The realisation that was dawning in her eyes, however; the assumption she was _already _jumping to, because Blair was on a bed with Chuck, kissing him - was not.

She was still staring between the two of them, hoping for any kind of explanation.

Blair hastily scrabbled towards her best friend - "S, it's not-"

"What are you doing to her, Chuck?" Serena demanded suddenly. Like she could make some sense of this. That had to be what it was, right? Because there was no way Blair would - Serena would have _known _if -

"He wasn't doing anything," Blair insisted. Miserable. "We..." She could hardly bring herself to look at Chuck now, misstepping. "I-"

(Because the real reason she hadn't wanted to tell anyone was that she didn't want to face up to her secret fear that she pushing him into something he couldn't be. Chuck Bass didn't like holding hands and first dates).

So she nearly jumped when she felt one hand snake around her waist, and realised he'd got off the bed and was drawing her easily back to him.

"Sorry, S," he smirked, calmly. "I've stolen you girlfriend." He was still gripping her, giving her a little squeeze as he smarmed, "So no more make-out sessions for you two, all right? Not unless you invite the boyfriend."

He felt Blair go very still in his hold. She didn't even give him a whack for being lecherous.

Serena was staring, too. "You two - are -?"

"Going out," Chuck filled in smoothly. "Yes. I commend your deduction skills."

"When did this happen?" she finally exploded. "B! Why didn't you tell me?"

Blair managed to recover herself a little - Serena's reaction bringing her back - she was not about to stand there like a mute fool (even if her insides had temporarily turned to liquid, and her heart was pumping sheer elation). "It's not that big a deal," she shrugged. "Anyway, I was going to - it's not my fault you've been out every day for like the past month."

"This has been going on a month?" But Serena was laughing, now - because both she and Chuck had seen the real grin on the brunette's face, hidden behind that nonchalance. And Serena was still stunned, but...well, maybe on some weird level it _did _make sense. She'd seen the signs; she just hadn't really known what to do with them. So she'd sort of let them lie.

"Anyway," Chuck smirked, "Tonight's the first real date." Blair's head whipped round to him at that, but he simply smiled infuriatingly back. "You'll have to wait and see, Waldorf."

She pulled a face back at him; but she was still glowing, and they all knew it.

* * *

"So." Jack lounged against the wall, Bart's scotch in hand. "I guess you weren't planning on mentioning my nephew's on suicide watch, were you?"

He still had that faint twist of a grin on his face - and Bart wasn't, for a second, foolish enough to think that it had anything to do with genuine concern for the boy. If anything, Jack was probably disappointed he wouldn't be getting Chuck's share of Bass Industries.

"He's at the Ostroff," Bart corrected coldly. "Why aren't you in Australia? What have you done now?"

Because Jack Bass only ever returned to the Upper East Side when he'd fucked something up and Bart needed to sort it.

Jack's face flickered for a second into something uglier, almost a grimace. "Good old Bart. Always so quick to judge. That's the brother I know and love." He made another grin, sipping on the scotch. "Would you believe me if I said I came out of genuine concern?" His voice dripped deliberate insincerity.

Bart appraised his younger brother in silence. He didn't bother deigning an answer. "You look like a hell."

"A small price to pay," Jack rejoined, still leering, "To feel like heaven."

Bart didn't even spare him the time of rolling his eyes. "Just tell me what you want, Jack. I'm busy."

Jack nodded, glancing speculatively at the scotch glass. "Oh, of course. I understand. Never a dull moment with Bass Inc...and I'm sure having a mentally unstable son who may or may not have slit his wrists thanks to his daddy issues - can't be too helpful right now." He flashed Bart another grin. "Have you paid off the therapists yet? In case all of Chuck's bitching about you gets out?"

Bart's mouth remained an unimpressed line. "You're not doing yourself any favors."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Fine. But what is the official line, if you don't mind me asking? Just so I know, if people ask. Wouldn't want to undo all your hard work."

Bart's expression was icy. "His girlfriend died. Now why are you here?"

At that, Jack paused temporarily. Bart guessed he hadn't realised there was an actual death. "His little shadow?" He may only have visited once or twice, but he'd known about the Girlfriend - he'd mocked his nephew endlessly for it.

"Blair," Bart answered, curtly. "Tell me what you want, Jack."

"What happened? Did Chuck finally realise he didn't want a Stepford wife and hire a hit man?"

But Bart didn't have time for Jack's bad taste, or his nasty attempt at humor.

"Unless you want to leave now, I suggest you-"

Both men fell silent at the knock on the door.

"Come in," Bart snapped, and a blonde head appeared.

Serena stared for a second at the obvious tension in the room, recognizing Jack. She'd had the biggest crush on him for like a month - Chuck's cool uncle who'd breezed in from Australia.

"Sorry for interrupting," she ventured. "But do you know where my mom and Eric are?"

"They're with Chuck," was Bart's short response. "Are you all right?"

Serena tried not to deflate too much, insides sinking. She'd been looking forward to spending some time with her family. "Yeah," she muttered. "I'm probably going to go to bed now. Night."

She closed the door behind her, heading down the corridor to her empty room.

Of course.

They were with _Chuck. _

Because where else were they, lately? Nate was no doubt with them too.

She felt tears prick behind her eyes - but it was everything; the questions the investigator had asked, the way she'd looked at her. Judged her. Worse, judged her and _Blair_. Like their friendship had been nothing. Like she didn't know her own sister. She wanted someone to hold her, without judgment - she wanted a pair of brown eyes that always understood her, and a smaller girl's embrace to make her feel strong.

She'd never felt more blindingly lonely in her life.

It took her a moment to realise her phone was even ringing; she lifted it blankly, glancing at the name on screen. Dan. She felt the smallest pang of guilt as she realised she hadn't answered a single one of his calls since that night. And he was still trying.

She hesitated for a moment; but she just wanted the hurt to _stop_, and this time, blindly, she finally picked up.

* * *

**Thank you so much for all your reviews! :) **


	9. Chapter 9

"Is it true?" Eric stopped his mother. She could hear the slight wariness in his voice - and the hope laced underneath it. "Is Chuck coming home?" And, when Lily glanced at him in surprise - "I heard you telling Larissa to make his bed," he admitted. "They're really letting him out?"

Her expression softened. "They are."

She still wasn't sure as to the exact details of Horace and Bart's agreement - but apparently it was buried. And, since she could tell Bart still wasn't entirely happy with the idea of his son being released, she had to wonder if the therapist had made it one of the terms. That, and sessions for Chuck with Horace himself twice a week.

"He's coming home tomorrow morning." She paused; "But obviously Serena doesn't know yet." She looked at her son carefully, pointedly. "And I will be the one to tell her."

Eric nodded. He knew Serena's reaction wouldn't be easy (his insides were already knotting with unease) - and he wasn't a fool; he knew this didn't mean Chuck was suddenly better. But he remembered just how relieved he'd been to get out of those walls, and however bad his brother was, he knew the Ostroff center wouldn't be making him feel any better.

"I'll wait till she knows before I tell Nate," he offered.

Lily smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, darling." Sometimes she didn't know what she'd do without her youngest son. God knew he was the only in the entire house who was capable of keeping peace.

Bart had been increasingly tense, and she was sure his brother's presence at the Palace wasn't doing anything to improve his mood. She still didn't know what Jack wanted - she wasn't certain Bart did, either - but whatever it was, it couldn't be good. And her husband didn't need a failing stock in Australia on top of everything else at the moment.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and both knew it was Serena before she'd even appeared.

Eric glanced at his sister as she came in; there were rings around her eyes that he knew, for once, didn't come from another night of partying (hadn't done in a while now), but she smiled fondly at him, grabbing herself some orange juice.

"Morning. What's going on?"

Lily exchanged the briefest look with him, but her eyes were on her daughter as she exhaled. "We've got some good news, darling."

* * *

This was not good news.

"Father. You're home."

Bart was supposed to be in Australia for the next week (on business, of course; nothing absurd like visiting his brother. Sometimes Chuck wondered how it was possible for the two men to even be related). But his father was standing in the foyer of his hotel in the middle of the week, bags already being taken upstairs.

He'd been in the middle of talking to one of his staff when Chuck had seen him. He glanced at his son, now. "Where are you off to?"

Chuck paused. "I'm seeing Blair," he answered guardedly.

He knew his father was aware of his relationship, but it wasn't like they ever talked about it. They didn't exactly talk when Bart _was _around - and especially not about soft topics like girlfriends. He doubted his father even believed he was capable of a girlfriend. The most they discussed was Chuck's failures, which was why the idea of discussing Blair with the man somehow made him uneasy. Like he was setting himself up for another fail.

Bart simply lifted a brow. "Eleanor's happy with her going out on school night?" he asked drily.

Like Eleanor knew - she'd been in Paris the past week. Still, Chuck couldn't help a slight smirk as he answered, "We're studying." Bart already knew he wasn't being serious.

Although Blair was in fact planning on studying. She had a French presentation the next day that she'd been obsessing over for the past week. Chuck already knew she'd be word perfect - he had his own plans for relaxing her.

Bart gave a little eye roll, but there was another member of the concierge vying for his attention now. He turned to deal with the man, sparing his son one final glance.

"Clear you schedule for Friday."

Chuck blinked, staring at his father. "Why?"

The man was already turning away - "Dinner. Bring Blair." He went to move off with his employee, and Chuck's mouth had actually dropped. In a dumbfounded expression that was definitely not fitting of Chuck Bass.

He recovered himself, unable to stop from lurching after Bart - "Wha - why?"

Bart's gaze flickered to him, clearly impatient to be on with business. "You've been going out for a year now, haven't you? I want to meet the girl."

"But it's Blair," Chuck said stupidly. "You know her." He couldn't help it; Bart had actually thrown him. He stared at the man, trying to work out what the trick was, if he was in some sort of trouble.

"And she's actually made you commit to something." Bart arched an eyebrow again. "I noticed there hadn't been any calls from the precinct lately. No requests to meet with the principle." His voice was crisp as ever. And Chuck was still staring.

Was it possible that his father was _praising_ him?

"Dinner. Eight o'clock." Bart had returned for the employee, and for a moment, Chuck stood there with an actual grin on his face. Just a second. He was quick to wipe it off as he remembered himself and headed out of the foyer to his waiting limo, but he couldn't stop it entirely.

He almost didn't notice Jack outside, his own bags being brought in.

"Uncle Jack." The grin shifted a little as Chuck moved towards the man, pleased. "I didn't know you were coming back too."

Jack's smirk back was the usual as he tossed down his cigarette. "Just for a couple of weeks. Business with Big Brother." He gave the boy a nudge. "And where are you disappearing to?" he winked. "House call?"

Chuck returned the smirk, though it was a private one underneath. "Something like that." He doubted his uncle would believe him either way.

"Dirty nephew!" Jack laughed. "Don't do anything I wouldn't." He tossed another wink, sauntering back into the Palace. House call. Chuck climbed into the limo, still smirking as he pictured Blair's face when he referred to it as such.

He'd heard the rumor that, under all those plaid skirts, Blair Waldorf had to be incredible in bed if she'd actually tamed Chuck Bass. It had made him grin, imagining her outrage - not that anyone had dared say it to his face. Much less hers.

They hadn't slept together yet. Because of Big Deals and Waiting and Not Being A Slut - but mainly because Blair was still freaking out. She'd always decided sex was about control, and the amount of times she'd come so close to losing it, just kissing him, was practically making her do back-flips. He'd threatened to take her in the back of his limo if she didn't stop spitting about Expectations and Perfect Moments. Only for her reaction, though.

He'd come far closer to losing control than she had - and probably more times, too - but he'd been expecting that. (This was the guy who got turned on just watching her tie her hair up, after all). He already knew sex with Blair wasn't - could never be - just sex.

No, he had a much bigger fear.

He'd never been one for brooding - he took what he wanted there and then - but he knew he was still waiting, secretly, for him to fuck up. He'd expected resistance, even though he'd known the whole time that he'd do anything for her (hold her hand, go to those stupid parent-teacher events as her date) because if she was happy then he was. And no, he'd never tell anyone that. She was the only person who was allowed to know, because in that much he didn't have a choice.

But he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because Chuck Bass screwed up, always. Inevitably. He'd convinced himself the best thing about Blair was that she knew he'd never change - but it was also the most terrifying. Just sometimes. That she saw him. Because the truth was, he trusted her far more than he trusted himself.

(And one half of him was waiting for the inevitable push, when she stared up at him from the ground, unbearable hurt in those brown eyes).

He could forget about that for now, though. He'd be seeing her and probably kissing her in less than ten minutes - and Bart had praised him. Bart wanted to have _dinner _with them. And even if it did unnerve Chuck a little (a lot), he couldn't contain that secret thrill.

* * *

"So what's he like, your father?"

Chuck gazed over at the wall - he'd already been told this was the last he'd see of that muted brown. His bags were packed, and this was his last therapy session in the room before he went home tomorrow.

He talked in these sessions because it was easier. Like white noise, a temporary filler from the silence. He considered Horace's question, detached. Once upon a time, if anyone else had asked Chuck Bass about Bart he probably would have answered, snorting, a bastard. Or if he was actually being honest (which, let's face it, he wouldn't) - _like me_. Only older and meaner.

But now he felt more disconnected from the man than he ever had before. Chuck Bass had been like his father - Chuck Bass might have succumbed to the Bass curse. But he'd surpassed lonely, bitter, miserable. Surpassed older and meaner. (Which left him with empty).

He wondered vaguely if that was what Bart had felt after Evelyn. Nothing.

"I thought that he hated me for causing his beloved wife's death," Chuck answered at last, dully. "And that that was the worst thing in the world." His lip curled without any real malice.

"And now?"

Now he realised that his father blaming him meant he'd at least felt _something. _Now he wondered how Bart had even had the energy to hate his son, how he'd bothered with the time, when all Chuck could ever think about was her.

"He's just a man," Chuck replied blankly.

There was a silence; but Horace regarded him without judgement.

"Why did you think he hated you?"

"I screwed up. Caused a lot of trouble," Chuck muttered distantly. "It's not that much of a shock."

* * *

They were lining up for assembly - Chuck had slid in at the end after finishing a quick wake and bake with Nate. His best friend had followed him not quite as subtly, but no one suspected the golden boy. Blair was already at the front with her minions; he could make out her headband even under the rows of taller heads. He knew she was aware of his eyes on her - she sent him a swift smirk, almost imperceptible, before returning to berating Iz about something.

He felt Nate flinch slightly at his side - and he turned to see Serena, late as ever. He didn't miss the look between the two of them; and Nate balked, muttering something about needing the bathroom. He disappeared before Chuck could stop him.

Chuck had an inkling of what had happened last weekend - Nate had tried, again, to confess his feelings to Serena - and she'd whirled away, again, confused (scared, Chuck knew, and unable to believe, even under all her wildness) - and ended up sleeping with Carter Baizen. Serena trusted Nate like she didn't trust any other guy; but the problem was, Serena didn't trust guys. Too many stepfathers and boys that couldn't get past being blinded by her golden light. And in some ways the fact that it was _Nate _made it even worse, because she couldn't fuck this one up. Couldn't afford to. (And didn't Chuck know what that was like).

He didn't miss the way Serena's face fell instantly. Or the smell of alcohol.

"Little early to start hitting the hard stuff, isn't it?" he drawled. "Even for me."

"Why?" she grinned back. "Jealous?" She was definitely trashed; and he suddenly realised she was also holding a little glass bottle. Her grin widened as she moved closer, waving it in way she clearly thought was hidden from everyone else. "Want some?"

His lip curled, slightly amused for a moment; but he pushed it, fluidly, out of sight. "Watch it, S. You might want to try not letting every teacher see."

She laughed. "What? Come on, Chuck," - she elbowed him, clumsily - "Since when do you stick to the rules?"

He'd brought in his own hip flask plenty of times, but he was always discrete. He didn't stick to the rules, but he didn't get caught. That was usually the point. It was needless hassle from the school otherwise; under the radar had always been his rule.

She swung the bottle up once more, still grinning. He rolled his eyes and tugged it out of her grasp. Regarded her. "Why are you drinking at nine in the morning?" he asked idly. He knew something was wrong - and he could take a guess.

She laughed again - the noise was starting to grate. He knew what a mess drunk Serena was. And it wasn't something he particularly felt like dealing with this early, either. "Why not?" She suddenly leaned closer, giggling as she flung an arm around him. Not hard, when she was practically taller than him. "Honestly? We have that French presentation thing, and I sort of forgot about it. I didn't have time this week. And I swear I speak much better French when I'm drunk," she giggled.

She tried to reach for the bottle again, but she was only drawing attention to herself. Chuck did a swift survey - Blair was already disappearing into the hall, the line starting to move. If she saw Serena, he knew, she'd be back there in a flash. And of course there was no sign of Nate. Just great. If Serena went into assembly like this, she'd be found out in seconds.

He rolled his eyes again. "Come on."

She was quite content to be dragged along - he managed to yank her round the corner and out of sight of everybody else. A giant stumbling Serena was almost impossible to maneuver.

She spun away from him, still laughing. Stumbled closer. "Are you trying to seduce me, Chuck Bass?" She was still unsteady on her feet as she wrapped her arms around him.

He disentangled her with a flicker of irritation. Serena was the most exhausting drunk.

She blinked at him, blue eyes still somewhat glassy. "Come on. You don't want me?" He could tell she wasn't really speaking to him, but she moved closer again, reaching for his lips.

"Serena." He pushed her away, pissed. She was going to regret this, and he'd have to put up with her wailing about it as soon as she did.

And, just like that, she suddenly seemed to realise what she was doing. Who he was. Her own face fell in sheer horror, now, as she stumbled away from him. She looked like she wanted to throw up - and he sidestepped, instantly, because the last thing he wanted was Serena's vomit on his Dior loafers. "I don't know what-" She started to cry, just like that. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't mean it. I don't know what - I don't-" She collapsed a little, against herself. "I didn't mean it," she cried.

And the thing was - he knew. He knew train wreck Serena. He knew the blind need for another body, another mouth.

"Nate hates me," she whispered brokenly. She didn't even seem all that aware of Chuck any more. "And it's all my fault. And now Blair's gonna hate me too."

He didn't say anything to that. (But they both knew that Blair could never hate Serena quite as much as she loved her).

"I don't understand," Serena mumbled. "Why do you get Blair?" She wasn't even trying to be spiteful; just genuinely lost. Confused. "You were supposed to be even worse than me. Why do you get her?"

He was silent for a moment. Because the truth was that he knew exactly what she was meant - and who _had _expected to see Chuck Bass in a functional (if not exactly ordinary, because it was _Blair_) relationship?

Not that Serena was expecting an answer - she just kept crying.

Chuck was about to tell her to snap out of it, when a stern voice interrupted both of them.

"What is going on here? Why aren't you two in assembly?" Chuck turned - but it was too late. The teacher's eyes widened as they landed on the bottle in his grasp. "Principle's office. Now."

Serena had started her crying again as they waited outside. "I ruined everything." She did make a sorry sight; blonde head lowered, mascara running. "They're gonna call home, and we're meant to be going to Paris, to Disneyland - but only if I don't get into any more trouble. It's Eric's birthday." She'd been the one to convince her mother - technically they were both too old for Disneyland, but Eric had missed out. She remembered Harold taking her and Blair when they were six - the sugar and goofy grins and princesses and castles, Blair's yearning look at the tiaras as she clasped the smaller girl's hand, the two of them giggling as Serena dragged her through the parade - and she wanted that magic again, for Eric.

And now she'd messed it all up. "He won't get to go," she whispered. "I ruined everything. Just like always."

Chuck knew Eric van der Woodsen, of course.

He finally spared her an exasperated glance. "Just keep your mouth shut," he muttered. "It was my bottle." She opened her mouth to protest, confused for a moment, but he cut her off with an eye roll. "Don't fuck it up."

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Lily glanced up to see Serena standing in the doorway of Chuck's bedroom, eyes narrowed and arms wrapped around herself as she surveyed her mother.

"Serena, now is not the time."

"What?" Serena demanded. "I'm just asking. It's not like I get answers for anything else."

Lily closed her eyes. She could hear the edge in her daughter's voice; the raw wound underneath that never stopped bleeding. The pain under all the anger. "I don't know what to do with the photos," she sighed at last. Almost a peace offering - but mainly because she really was at a loss. Exhausted. And she knew Serena was too. "If I should leave them, or..."

Both their eyes fell on the Blair in the picture next to Chuck's bed.

Serena pressed her lips together. "Whatever." But there was still the burn of tears underneath it as she stiffened her shoulders, hugging her arms even tighter. "It's not like he's ever bothered with what anyone else wants, mom. Don't waste the time."

"Serena-"

"I'm going out," her daughter scoffed in disgust, and she turned on her heel. (She was still on the verge of tears, though).

Lily shook her head, tiredly, and closed her eyes in the silence.

* * *

"Did you ever feel like you hated him?"

(Chuck Bass would once have laughed himself senseless at the idea of sitting down to talk about his _daddy_ issues.)

* * *

Blair could see Chuck's shoulders getting tighter and tighter across the table. She could _feel _his tension, and it was making her own stomach twist unbearably.

"Could I get you some drinks while you wait for Mr. Bass to arrive?" The stupid waiter who'd been hovering around their table for the past thirty minutes was back.

"No," Blair answered tightly, before Chuck could. "Thank you."

It would be just like his father to show up after Chuck decided to start downing scotch. (The restaurant would have no problems serving two fourteen year olds alcohol when their adult was Bart Bass). She wasn't about to let that happen.

"Do you have any idea when Mr. Bass is likely to arrive?"

Did this idiot have any manners? Did he know the meaning of service?

"He's coming," Blair snapped. He'd _better_ be coming. She couldn't stand it, the look on Chuck's face. The forced indifference. He said nothing, but she could see the faint clenching of his jaw as he tried to convince himself he knew Bart _wasn't_ coming, and he didn't care. Doubt wrestling with the hope that refused to die, however much he forced it down.

The minutes stretched.

It was almost nine when the waiter reappeared with _another _offer of drinks - and this time Chuck bit out a scotch. Blair bit her lip hard. That was it - she'd had enough. She pushed out her chair, reaching for her bag.

Chuck watched her.

"I'm going to find out where he is," she answered, since she knew he wouldn't.

He caught her wrist, at that, as she tried to get past him, with a low growl of, "Waldorf-"

"I'll be back in a minute."

She slipped out of his grasp. She still had the number of Bart's secretary saved on her phone (she couldn't even remember from which scheme), and she stood in the foyer of the restaurant impatiently, dialing.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid Mr. Bass is in a meeting. He won't be able to make it..."

When she got back to the table, it took Chuck a single glance to work it out. Probably he'd already guessed. She saw him steeling himself, telling himself he'd known all along, and it twisted that little bit further inside her.

The waiter brought the scotch, and he downed it without a moment's pause.

"Chuck."

He tried to look away from her, signaling the waiter over for another scotch. So she reached out over the table, catching his hand. She snapped at the serving boy to leave and forced Chuck's attention back to her. Gripped his larger hand in her small fingers as she held his gaze fiercely.

He just glowered; but, finally, his shoulders slumped a little.

"Come on." He got to his feet, pulling her up after him. "We're not staying here." His caught her waist, hand on the small of her back as he guided her out of the door. She could feel his anger radiating next to her, his grip hard.

She let him lead her out before turning on him. He was still trying to push her into the limo - she had to grab his arm to physically stop him.

They faced each other, and she could see the furious shame etched on his face - the warring emotions that twisted her stomach further. Humiliation for letting himself hope Bart would show up. They were both used to that; and they still never seemed to learn their lesson. Like Blair believing her mother would actually _want _to spend time with her when she got back from Paris.

Her phone rang then - and she wondered for one crazy second if it was Bart, especially when she saw that the number was unknown. She knew Chuck had dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his head (even as it lingered like an infection).

"Blair! You need to get here now!"

Her heart sank as the very loud and very disjointed voice of her best friend rang in her ear. Serena was either drunk or high.

"S," she sighed. "Can I call you back?"

"B! I miss you! Where are you?"

"Look, I'll call-"

"Are you mad at me?" Just like that, the laughter in Serena's voice disappeared, replaced by anguish. "B, please don't me hate me. I don't know what I'd do if you hated me too. I love you, B. I love you so much."

"Serena-"

"Please, Blair," she sobbed, "You can't hate me!"

Blair felt an instant flicker of concern at the tears - her best friend wasn't in a good state. But her eyes were still on Chuck, silent and rigid.

"I'm not mad at you," she said firmly. "Ok? I love you too. I'll call you back."

"Wait, don't go! B, please don't go."

Blair could just about make out male voices in the background over her best friend's disjointed sobs. "Where are you?" she asked, worry increasing. She glanced at Chuck, seeing that he had his own cell out - he must have just got a text.

"I went to Butter," the blonde slurred. "And I think I had too much tequila. And I took something, and I want to go home. B, I did something so stupid. I'm so stupid. And I love you so much- and - I want to go home."

Blair closed her eyes. "I'll be there in five. Stay where you are, and don't hit on anything." She hung up and turned back to Chuck, who had read whatever it was by this point. "We need to go to Butter." Then, immediately, glancing at the phone in his hand - "Who was that?"

"Bart." His voice was tight. "He wants me home, apparently. Now."

Blair felt a bit sick too. She couldn't let him go home and face Bart, not in this state.

He glanced at her then, reading her expression; "Go pick up blondie."

"Chuck-"

He allowed her hand to tangle with his, shaking his head to cut her off. "Go. You know you'll somehow end up being blamed if she ODs in the bathroom." His mouth curled faintly as he said it, with an eye roll - but she could see just how bad he was underneath that.

But he ushered her into the limo without giving her an option.

"I'll drop you off, Waldorf."

* * *

"When did you start thinking he blamed you for your mother's death?" Horace asked. His voice was low and gentle.

Chuck half closed his eyes, blankly. "When my uncle told me the truth."

After helping Blair pull the half prone blonde out of Butter, he'd sent them both off in another car - Serena could barely form a coherent sentence at that point, let alone walk - and gone back to the Palace. He could tell Blair was tense, unhappy with the outcome - she'd grabbed his sleeve before they'd parted, instructing him to call her. (He hadn't; she'd spent most of the night calling him).

He'd climbed into the elevator still shaking with anger and more than ready to confront his father.

"I thought we had dinner plans?" Because it wasn't just Chuck he'd stood up - it was Blair too. And that he would not allow.

Bart's gaze had been cold, though. Unaffected. "And I thought I had a meeting at lunch today. But I had to reschedule it for tonight, because I was called in for a disciplinary hearing." The expression on the man's face was one of sheer displeasure. "Drinking on school property? How stupid are you, Charles?"

It had been what he'd said next that had really stung, though - _every time I think you might be improving, you find some new way to disappoint me. I should have known. _

He'd gone, then, for a conference call, leaving Chuck alone and seething in his suite.

Jack had stumbled in a few moments later, clearly just finishing off (or starting) a good night. It had taken him a second to notice his nephew, the glare on his face.

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

Jack always had been good for complaining about Bart - it was something Chuck actually bonded with his uncle over. Bart's shared disdain for them. Something Jack always encouraged.

"I just don't see why he hates me so much," Chuck had spat.

Jack had just snorted in answer. "Because good old Bart never lets go of a grudge. You should know that by now." His uncle had rolled his eyes - "Him and his precious Evelyn. I tell you, that man does not know how to let go."

Chuck had stopped instantly at the mention of the E-word, which is why it took him a second to process - grudge? What the hell was Jack talking about?

"Hey, kid, it's not your fault. Everyone else knows that. What kind of a freak blames a baby?"

Chuck had listened to Jack say things like long-term birthing complications, Evelyn being rushed to hospital just two months after her son was born - but he'd refused to accept them. Numb with horror and disbelief. They couldn't be true. Evelyn had died in a plane crash. Bart had _told_ him.

"Why would he lie?"

A shrug - "Who knows why Bart does anything? He likes messing with people's heads. Always has done."

Chuck hadn't confronted his father. He _couldn't. _Couldn't deal with seeing it in the man's eyes - and it fell into place, all of it. He'd gone straight to the safe instead, called his PI, done everything possible to confirm the story without going anywhere near Bart.

And it was true, all of it. He'd killed his mother.

He'd holed himself up in his suite after that, sick to his stomach, Blair's repeated calls ignored.

* * *

He rode the elevator up to the penthouse with Lily and Eric in silence. Bart had picked him up from the Ostroff before heading to work, and Nate was coming over later.

Leaving those walls should have been a relief, but the air outside had been dull; the fleeting noise of the city a muffled blanket. The familiarity of the entrance foyer, Vanya the doorman, the marble floors and smell of expensive floor wax - all of it fell flat. He was a stranger in his own home, and he knew why - because he knew where home was, and it wasn't the building where his family lived.

Lily was asking him what he wanted for brunch, telling him his laundry had been done; his answers were automatic and easy. Half remembered. Chuck Bass had always loathed being the center of attention. There was a reason he stuck to the shadows. A reason that he drank by himself when he was angry, traveled to parts unknown when he was miserable. Being worried over, told where to go and watched at every step - it would have been Chuck Bass' worst nightmare.

But perhaps he needn't have bothered running or hiding all those times - because he'd never realised just how easy it was to be in the same room as someone and still not be there.

He felt it too, though; the stabs of guilt. Dull, through the blankness - guilt from Lily's careful glances, Eric's anxious eyes (too much; he carried too much), from Nate's worried looks that he thought Chuck couldn't see.

The elevator finally dinged to a stop, and Chuck followed them out.

Lily ushered him straight to his room for a change of clothes and a proper shower - and he caught a flash of blonde from the corner of his eye just before he went in.

He caught the glare, Serena staring at him silence.

Then her bedroom door was slammed as she disappeared inside.

* * *

Marie was still going over the photos of the scrapbook when she noticed something. Near the last page, against Blair Waldorf's dream wedding, was a piece of paper that the investigator had initially passed over. There was a number written on it - she'd paid it no attention because most of the numbers written down seemed to be for florists or venues or dressmakers to help perfect each date, cotillion through to twenty-first birthday party.

But it caught her attention next time round when she realised that the paper this particular number was written on was different material to the rest of the scrapbook. And, on closer inspection, didn't actually seem to be stuck down.

She'd examined the entire book; and if Blair Waldorf was anything, it wasn't careless. She wouldn't have allowed a scrap of mismatching paper to float about, loose - not as a part of the book. Which suggested it might have been shoved there, or perhaps caught up in the pages.

Which could have meant nothing, obviously.

Except for the unbelievable neatness of Blair's room, the sheer organization. Everything had its place - and this particular scrap didn't.

And Marie was nothing if not meticulous. She entered the number into her own cell, pausing as she listened to the dial tone - but the answer was farily prompt.

"Fairview Treatment Centre. Can I help you?"

* * *

**A/N - Thank you so much for your reviews! Sorry this is a shorter chapter. **

**Also, just to make something quite clear: the Chuck/Serena scene in the flashback is NOT a hint of any (romantic) relationship between them. I intended it to show how messed up Serena was; don't hate her! It's about Blair, and Serena's feelings for Nate - not Serena's tendency to sleep with her best friend's boyfriend, heh. I promise, no Chuck/Serena. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N So first of all - sorry for not updating for so long! I've had a crazy few weeks. But regular updates will resume from now on! Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews :) **

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* * *

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"Serena. Uh, hi. Hey. It's Dan. I - how are you?"

Serena couldn't repress the faintest of smiles at the stutter at the other end of the line (one that was gradually becoming familiar to her). She was almost surprised at just how pleased she was to hear from him; and her reply was one of genuine warmth. She'd been moping in her room for most of the night, and it was nice to hear his voice.

She also remembered to apologise for their last conversation - she felt a little bad for ignoring him for days, only to sob down the line when she finally did pick up. She doubted she'd even been that coherent anyway - it had just been good to know there was someone there. Someone different - someone unbiased and uninvolved, who didn't understand anything more than that she missed her best friend.

"So...uh, I was wondering. Do you want to maybe get coffee at some point?"

Serena paused for a moment at his question - but before she could even answer, Dan was already backtracking.

"Wait, that was so insensitive. Oh man. That's not what I meant at all - I mean, obviously, you're - well, what I mean is, you know, if you ever wanted to get out of the apartment, I know a really great place. I was just thinking it might do you good to get out and talk. Or, you know, not talk. With me. Or without me. Ok, this was a really bad idea, forget I said any-"

"Dan," she interrupted, laughing. She hesitated for only a second. "I'd love to."

Dan sounded a mix of relieved and amazed. "You would?"

Getting out of the apartment was exactly what she needed.

And she really would like to see more of Dan. Before...all of it had happened, she'd actually been considering something with him. She'd signed up for an extra-curricular English class a while back (another whim of good intention that had eventually fizzled out) - but had been paired with him for a group paper because of it. It had been the first piece of work she'd actually put some effort into (although, admittedly, he'd done most of it) - and she'd found him refreshing.

Just finishing another break with Nate, Dan had been a great distraction. Not just a break from Nate, but a break from her whole party circuit. She'd found herself staying in for 'study' (he studied, she distracted) sessions with him. Brooklyn was far enough away that it felt like another world - and the fact that no one else knew anything about it made it even better.

That had been before, though.

The last thing she felt like now was a relationship. At the same time, though, Dan did manage to make her feel a little better. And if she'd needed an escape before, she definitely needed one now.

"So...tomorrow? How about twelve?"

Serena was still smiling, faintly, as she hung up. She flopped back onto her bed, reflecting that she should probably think about getting some sleep.

But her smile disappeared in the next instant. She sat up slowly, ears straining to make out the noise. It was one of the most unsettling she'd ever heard - one that was already making her skin crawl, her heart sink. She moved over to her bedroom door, easing it open. And she stood in the dark hallway, silent.

Chuck's bedroom door was closed, blocking her out even across the corridor. But she could hear it. Just. In the silence of the night, the noises he was making in his sleep. (If he was even asleep. She didn't know which was worse). The choked, shuddering groans. She stood frozen in her own doorway, sick to her stomach.

The idea of coffee with Dan Humphrey had never seemed more remote.

She forced herself back into her room, closing the door firmly. Switched the light off and climbed into bed. But as she lay on her pillow, all she could hear was Chuck's anguish. And even as she strained to block it out, her own tears were already staining her pillow.

* * *

"Come _on_, B! Dress off!"

Serena seized the hem of Blair's neat black skirt, trying to drag it over her best friend's head. Blair obediently, reluctantly stepped out of it so that she was left in a blue bowed bikini. Serena was already changed, long brown limbs loose in a suit that was barely there.

Blair tried to repress a shiver in the clammy air of the changing room, fighting back the lump of unease. Her stomach had been unsettled all day, something that Serena's insistence they sneak into the pool for a private party hadn't helped. But Serena had practically begged - because it was Nate's birthday, and she wanted to do something for him. Blair knew she was hoping this night would give her the opportunity to at least try to sort things out with him.

Blair was planning on staying till Nate arrived, and after ensuring he and Serena actually _talked, _sneaking back to the Palace. And this time, she was getting into that suite. And she was going to work out what the hell was going on with Chuck. No one had been able to get through to him for most of the week now. But she was Blair Waldorf, and she would get to him even if she had to break down his door.

Her eyes slid instantly, again, to her phone as there was the chime of a text - but it was Serena's, of course.

"It's Nate," the blonde announced - then, as she read it - "He's just leaving now, and Chuck's with him!"

Blair froze for only a split second before she'd snatched the cell from her best friend. "What? He's _out_?" But the text didn't lie.

"See," Serena was delighted. "I told you this was a great idea, B. Even Chuck can't resist a pool party!" She grinned at the smaller girl as she whipped out the gin bottles and started pouring. "Everything's gonna be fine, ok? This night will be amazing."

Blair managed to force a smile. "Yes." Chuck still hadn't answered any of her calls.

Serena had already thrust a glass into her hand, giving her a nudge. "_Yes_," she said firmly. "Now drink up."

The party was already gearing into full swing by the time the boys actually arrived; people lounging by the sides, drinks in hand as they danced and dived into the pool, music and laughs echoing among the splashes. Serena was in the middle of one such circle, Blair at her side with the water brushing her feet as she tried to stop looking to the entrance every five minutes.

It was Serena who saw Nate first, though - and Blair darted after the blonde as she leapt to her feet. Serena was already fortified enough with alcohol to rush up to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Natie! Happy birthday!"

Nate's hug back was immediate - because it was _Serena, _and how could he even-? Blair, however, had far more pressing concerns.

"Where's Chuck?" she demanded.

"Here. Of course." And a familiar arm tightened around her, catching her bare waist. She turned in his grip instantly - and her heart was already sinking as she did so, stomach knotting even further. Because she could already see that hard, unknown look in his eyes; already feel the rigidity under his apparent languor.

"See!" Serena cried before she could say anything. The blonde grinned round at them. "We're all here. Just the way it should be." She gave Blair another nudge, her own shoulder still brushing Nate's - "What did I tell you?"

Nate looked equally relieved as he smiled back.

"Just the way it should be," Chuck echoed - and Blair seemed to be the only one who noticed the nasty sneer underneath it. Either that, or Nate and Serena were choosing to ignore it.

His arm was still pinning Blair to his side, hard, the heat doing nothing to ease the cold prickles on her bare skin. And on the one hand she was so relieved that he was _here_, familiar body against hers - but he wasn't ok. He wasn't ok at all.

"Get you a drink?" Nate smiled at Serena.

She laughed back - "I think I need to get _you _one!"

"I think we all need a drink." And it was there still, in Chuck's voice; the sneer. Serena and Nate were more than happy to lead the way, but Blair swfitly stopped Chuck's path.

"Actually, we need to talk."

Chuck still hadn't really looked at her - not properly - but she didn't wait for any of their objections, trying to steer him in the direction of the changing rooms. His hand slid to the small of her back as he (thankfully) followed, his steps hot on hers.

Once they were inside, she turned on him - but he'd already slid down onto the changing room bench, pulling her with him and in between his legs.

"Couldn't wait to get me alone, Waldorf?"

His hands had wrapped around her bare thighs, tugging her on top of him as his fingers crept up her back.

"Chuck," she snapped. She managed to regain control, taking ahold of his shoulders as she tried and failed to move off his lap. "What's going on? What happened?" She struggled to make him _look_ at her.

"What's going _on_," he murmured, refusing to let her go - his fingers were still pressed into her hips - "Is that we're at a pool party and you're half naked." His lips sought her neck, searing; "So how about we turn this two piece into a no piece?" His fingers caught the strap of her bikini, slipping to the fastening -

And even as she tried to resist him, she was aware of his heat, her breath shortening and heart speeding up, her body reacting to him oblivious to her mind's protests. Because it was _Chuck - _and he had her, and he knew it.

She knew exactly what he was doing. Why he hadn't looked at her, because she alone would _know; _and now another veil, another disguise and another distraction. Sex.

"Chuck."

Her small fingers caught his chest, pushing. They tightened on the lapels of his shirt, forcing his eyes on her, her body still against his.

"What happened with Bart?"

He didn't get to avoid it. Avoid her. Not any more.

He rolled his eyes (like he wasn't trying to hide a flinch). "How about we don't talk about my father while you're on me?" He captured her lips with his instead - and she tasted scotch - so she bit down, hard.

His hands tightened instantly on her skin. "If you wanted to play rough-"

She grabbed his chin, though, stopping him. "Talk to me." It was almost a plea, for all its fierceness. She searched his eyes, trying to figure it out - because the answer was there, and Blair Waldorf above anyone else could find it. It was Chuck, and it was her.

His lip curled. "My rule is generally no talking." And his hand slid in between her legs - he'd touched her there before, but always at her pace; always smoothly and carefully as he watched to see exactly what she wanted. And she knew that if she let him, now, she wouldn't want him to stop (she never did).

So she yanked herself away from him, violently, ripping herself from his hands. "_Chuck_." She managed to get to her feet in front of him, arms wrapping instinctively round herself to make up for the loss of his warmth - "I'm not losing my virginity to you. Not here, and not like this." She was making a point; but her point wasn't her virginity, it was that Chuck would damn well tell her what was wrong.

She saw it, though, the briefest flicker in his eyes - maybe it was what she'd said; maybe it was the way she'd said his name, or the fact that she was now standing away from him, hugging herself - but his expression changed to one of almost horror, instant sickened regret and self-disgust at what he thought he'd been about to do to her.

And she thought she had him then. She moved in again just like that, going to take his face in her hands -

And, instantly, he closed off again. Jerked away from her touch and let his lip curl once more as - she could see it - he forced himself to look at her, through her, ready to be as nasty as possible. Wall fortified. "When are you going to get it?" he sneered, slowly. Quietly. "It's just sex. It means _nothing_." And there it was, thrown back in her face, the sorest point he could find - "Stop deluding yourself, Blair."

It was the use of her own name, spat from his lips, that made her flinch all the more; but her fists tightened because she knew exactly what he was doing. "I don't believe you."

He just snorted. Made himself remain unmoved, gaze just as unfeeling. "Well, that's not really my problem, is it?"

"Chuck." She gritted her teeth. "What did Bart say to you?"

His face was transformed into a grimace of sheer dislike (except it was at himself and himself alone). "Just the truth. And really, he did me a favour. So let me do the same for you." Lashing out at her, pushing her away like only he knew how (anything but dragging her in too) - "If you ever let me fuck you, it's not going to mean anything more just because we had a cute little care and share. All sex does is make you feel better for a while. Sitting here talking about feelings doesn't. So why don't you stop wasting your time?"

And there it was.

He'd managed to push her over again.

Even though he was still sitting and she was still standing, she may as well have been on the ground.

"Fine," she said, unbearably tight, at last. "I'll stop."

And then she'd gone.

And it reverberated, echoed hollowly through his mind once more, what he'd always known - the fact that he'd temporarily managed to bring her down didn't pull her onto his level - it just made him even lower than he'd been to start with.

* * *

"So what didn't you like as much about Blair?"

Chuck expression was blank.

Horace regarded him back, however, with a faint smile. "It's easy to remember the good things," the therapist rumbled. "Remembering the bad doesn't mean you love someone any less."

Chuck was silent for a moment; but he finally looked at the man. Actually _looked -_ eyes slightly hooded and lips almost pursed.

"I knew all about the bad," he answered with an empty laugh. "She was vain, manipulative, selfish..." But Horace couldn't help but note that the boy's lip curled as he said it - not in dislike, but almost in pride. Admiration laced with a hint of amusement, like a secret joke that only he knew. (Only they knew).

"That's not what I asked," Horace chuckled. "I asked about the things you didn't like about her."

There was another silence. "She never gave up," Chuck murmured at last. His eyes flickered to the ceiling, blank at the wall again. "When she loved someone, she never knew how to give up."

* * *

"Where is he, Nate?" Blair demanded. She'd been pretending not to care for the best part of the hour, but she could tell Nate was hiding something from the guilty and not at all subtle glances he kept shooting her - and Serena was _useless _at interrogation. And said Serena had just her sent an equally anxious glance. They knew _something._

Nate ran a hand through his hair. "Uh..."

"Just tell me!"

Serena tried to lay a reassuring hand on the brunette, but Blair shook it off. She didn't want _comforting - _she just wanted to know what the hell was going on. There was no use feigning cold indifference any more. How had she even let someone know more than she did?

"He, uh...he went to Prague."

Blair was silent.

"Or at least," Nate added hastily, "I think that's where he went. He was talking about Czech customs, or something..."

"When?" Blair's voice was like ice.

"The night after the pool party," Nate mumbled. "I went to check on him. He wasn't in the best state," the blond admitted. Serena exchanged a look with him.

"Blair," she said hesitantly. "Did something happen between the two of you? Did Chuck do something?"

"No," Blair snapped. She pressed her lips together. "Chuck was Chuck." Her gaze zeroed back on Nate. "What else did he say? Did he say why-" She stopped herself, seeing Nate stare in confusion. Waiting for her to go on.

"Why what?"

"Did he say anything about Bart?" she finished at last.

But Nate's expression didn't get any clearer as he stared at her. "I don't think so. Why?"

Blair just shook her head. "Never mind." She straightened her dress, tugging at the skirt. "I have to go," she said briskly. "I have a sleepover to plan."

Serena opened her mouth to protest. "B-"

"I'm _busy_," Blair snapped, and she moved out of the blonde's grasp and disappeared.

* * *

"Nate."

Serena paused as she came down the stairs, taking in the familiar blond head in her front room.

"What are you doing here?"

Nate shifted on his feet, slightly. Serena didn't miss the fact that he glanced at her for less than a second. "I actually came to see Eric."

Serena blinked. "Oh." She wanted to ask when the two of them had become such good friends, till it occurred to her that it might have been since they'd both lost their real best friend. Chuck. Chuck who had been taken by Lily to see his therapist. And that wasn't a truth she particularly wanted to think about. "Well, he's with Jonathon."

"Yeah, ok. I was in the area, just thought I'd swing by just in case..." His voice trailed off with a shrug. There was a slightly awkward pause. Serena hated it; hated that things had even got to this stage. Not with her and Nate. "Are you going out?" he asked eventually. Small talk. Great.

And of course Serena paused a little, since she was on her way to meet Dan. "Yeah," she answered. Non-committal. Another pause. And then, as blue eyes finally locked on blue - "Nate-"

They were interrupted by the buzz of the intercom; almost impatient, Serena answered it.

"Miss van der Woodsen? There's an investigator here who wants to talk with you. A Marie? Should I send her up?"

And in that instant, Serena forgot all about any coffee or Dan Humphrey. Her eyes slid to Nate against their own will, who was looking back. "Yeah," she replied at last. "Send her up."

* * *

"B," Serena groaned. She was already a few glasses past tipsy. "Come _on_. It's New Years Eve! No offence to my mom, but this party sucks. And you know it." And admittedly, despite its sophistication, canapes and champagne cocktails with parents in the van der Woodsen penthouse wasn't exactly_fun. _"You need a good time tonight, B. So let's sneak out!"

Nate, arm looped around Serena's waist, grinned in agreement.

But Georgina was hanging around like a bad smell, and the last thing Blair felt like doing was going out and watching Nate and Serena make out before putting a wasted Serena to bed. And she definitely didn't want to be surrounded by kissing couples when the clocks struck twelve. Not when the only person she wanted to see was busy destroying his liver on the other side of the world. Wherever he was, she doubted he'd even notice when it turned midnight.

(No no. She wasn't supposed to be thinking about him at all).

"Snow White's too boring to even consider sneaking out," Georgina drawled. "Don't waste your time, S."

"I'm sorry," Blair retorted icily - "_You're_ more than welcome to sneak out any time you want. The invitation was for your parents, Georgie. Didn't you get the hint?"

"B," Serena sighed, dragging out the _bee_ in a way that was particularly grating that moment, for some reason. "Don't be mean." She wrapped an arm around the bitch and Blair felt a little more sick. "We want you here, Georgie."

"Svetlana," Georgie corrected with a smirk. She nudged the blonde, exchanging a grin - "Wanna be Savannah tonight?"

Serena giggled uproariously - the stupid little joke they had between them had always irritated Blair. She'd never understood how it could be fun pretending to be someone else.

"Come on," Serena laughed. "Let's bail."

"Serena," Blair protested furiously. "You can't leave me."

"So come with!"

"No."

Serena semi rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Why not?" she plead.

"My mother will kill me." It was an excuse, and they both knew it, but before Serena could say anything, Georgina had interjected.

"Why do you even ask, S?" She rolled her eyes - and unlike Serena, there was no warmth underneath it - "She's _boring_." Her lip curled into a malicious smile, landing on the brunette. "Maybe that's why..." She didn't need to finish her sentence.

Serena frowned at her.

Georgie gave a little shrug. "I'm just saying, maybe some things are worth the risk of STDs from Czech prostitutes."

Serena intervened this time, before Blair could, and her tone was hard now. "Georgie. That's enough." Georgie looked like she was about to grimace at the look the blonde was sending her, but she transformed it into a smile instead.

"I'm sorry," she purred at Blair. "That was cruel. I didn't mean it, B." This was said with a look at Serena, just to prove how friendly she was being. It made Blair's stomach curdle again.

"Only my friends call me B," she sniped. She went to turn away, but Serena caught her arms. She actually pulled the smaller girl away from the others, and away from Georgie so that it was just the two of them.

"Blair," she said gently. "Look, come out with us."

Blair's reply was adamant, however. "I'm not going anywhere near whore-gina."

Serena sighed. "You're both as bad as each other, ok? And you know you're not boring. You just _need _a good time. If Chuck is acting the way he is - then, he's not worth it. Ok? He doesn't deserve you." She gave her best friend a nudge. "So just let go for once. Cut loose." Tried to pull on her hands - "Come on, B. Actually have some fun!"

"I don't want to."

"B," Serena groaned. "You can't spend your whole life trying to please your mother. You need to grow up sooner or later."

And at that, Blair stiffened. "What?"

Serena took in her rigid posture, and exhaled. "Ok, that's not what I meant." She attempted to drag her best friend along once more. "Can we just get out of here?"

"No," Blair responded tightly. "I think I'll stay, thank you."

"B-"

"Just go, Serena. I wouldn't want to intervene on your grown up fun with _Svetlana. _Really, it makes sense that acting like a southern blonde bimbo is the highlight of your night._"_

And at that, this time, it was her turn to receive one of Serena's frowns. "Why are you acting like such a bitch tonight?"

"Because I _am _a bitch," Blair snapped back. "And I really don't want you here any more. So leave."

She saw Serena's face flicker with hurt, then anger. "Fine. Have fun with our _parents_." And with that, she flounced back to Georgina and Nate. Blair saw Nate look over to her, concerned - but she just scowled back, and then Serena was already leading the way out.

Blair pressed her nails into her hand, trying to fight back the sudden lump in her throat. Wasn't that what she'd wanted? (No. She'd wanted Serena to stay. She wanted Chuck to come back). But she still faltered, left standing alone in a room full of strangers in the constricting dress and pearls her mother had picked out.

Speaking of which -

"Blair," Eleanor hissed. "What are you doing standing here? Stop being so antisocial." And she pushed the girl towards a group of people. "Go and talk, please."

Blair managed to fix a false smile on her face as she faced the circle of adults. She was good at speaking to adults, after all. She knew their names, of course, but she didn't _know _any of them - and her heart was already sinking with the pressure of small talk that she really didn't want to be forced to make for the rest of the night.

"Eleanor tells me you're at Constance, Blair. How's that going?"

Of course, the school question. Luckily Blair had the perfect answer on autopilot for all questions like these, darling Waldorf heiress out and ready for show.

"So I wonder if I misheard something your mother told me. Forgive me, I'm curious - is it true you were the form for her first dress?"

Blair paused, reading the woman's polite skepticism. Bitch. She felt her own cheeks heat with embarrassment even as she answered sweetly, "So she says."

Another look from the woman, and Blair wanted the ground to swallow her up.

"I just...well, aren't most of these clothes made for actual models?"

"What do you mean?" Blair asked between gritted teeth. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do more - slap the woman or run away. And she knew she could, of course, do neither.

"Well, the shape-"

"Sherry," a male voice interjected, "I think you've got a little...ah, spinach, stuck in your teeth. You may want to fix that."

The woman's hand darted, instantly, to her mouth - and Blair turned in surprise, recognizing Chuck's uncle behind her. Much to Blair's relief, Sherry hastily excused herself and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.

"Thank God she's gone," Jack drawled. He flashed Blair a grin, and Blair couldn't resist a faint smile curling at her corners of her own mouth, though she was quick to make it disappear.

"Can I get you a drink?"

She opened her mouth to refuse on instinct, but he cut her off.

"I need one after dealing with that woman, and I'm pretty sure you do too." He was already offering the way to their minibar. She glanced at the group of matriarchs waiting to descend on her, and then, hesitating for only a second, followed Chuck's uncle.

She felt a little weird, especially since she'd been talking about him just that evening. Or rather, Serena had. "He really is quite sexy," the blonde had giggled while Nate was otherwise occupied.

"Ew, S!"

"No, seriously," Serena insisted. "There's just something about the way he drinks his scotch..."

"Other people drink scotch," Blair had retorted, still fixed on not mentioning _his _name. Serena knew, anyway.

"Yeah," her nose wrinkled. "But, you know...that's...other people. It's just not as sexy. I mean, Jack has got that whole bad boy vibe. And have you seen his smile?"

Blair had just rolled her eyes, and Serena had laughed again. Blair knew Serena was only acting like she wanted a bad boy - she knew, really, that all she really wanted was security. A pair of blue eyes to anchor her and warm arms to keep her safe.

But now, as Jack poured himself some more scotch and whipped Blair up a cocktail with a flourish and a smirk, Blair could almost see it. There was an edge about him that was almost reminiscent of his nephew. Chuck had always admired him to the point of idol worship - and no wonder, since he was the only member of the Bass family who actually treated him like a human being.

"You know," Jack commented, "She may be your mother, but that doesn't mean you have to wear her designs, does it?" He tipped her a little wink. "Between you and me, you can do better than that."

For the first time, Blair wasn't entirely sure how to react to that. It was the kind of line Chuck would come out with, to which her usual response would be an eye roll - but Jack was an adult. Wasn't he? Was she supposed to smile politely? Jack chuckled, and she realised she must have been standing there like an idiot with a look of uncertainty. And she remembered herself for a moment - she was Blair Waldorf - and sent him a scowl.

That seemed to catch his interest instantly; he raised his hands and apologized - and even if she could still see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, his tone was sincere.

He kept talking and making her more cocktails, and she realised she was enjoying his company. The guy that Serena herself had been drooling over was paying _her _attention. A man, in fact. He hadn't said a single word to Serena. Who was grown up now? And Blair found herself laughing and chatting back in a way that was nothing like Blair Waldorf. But if Serena could flirt, why the hell couldn't Blair? If Serena could pretend to be someone else, why couldn't she?

And where most guys were put off if Blair made a snide comment or rolled her eyes, it actually seemed to impress Jack more. Who said she even had to flirt in the same way Serena did? (And she knew, deep down, why she was enjoying it so much - because there was only one other guy who had the same reaction to her natural bitchiness. The one currently drowning in Czech whores).

It was made all the more delicious by the fact that she was technically obeying her mother, but it still felt like a secret rebellion. Being bad could feel good, provided she didn't get into trouble at the end. And she wouldn't - she was being sociable, after all.

Jack laughed and leaned in a little closer to say something in her ear, and she let him. She laughed, too. If Chuck could see her now -

"Jack."

She stilled at a familiar cold voice, smile fading rapidly from her face.

Jack turned to face his brother with an idle shrug. "Bart," he smirked back. "How's it going?"

Bart looked decidedly unimpressed. His eyes flickered, briefly, to how close Jack was standing to the fourteen year-old girl, and Blair felt a twist of shame for some reason. Something uncomfortable.

"I need to go over some numbers with you."

"Come on, big brother, it's a party-"

"Now." Bart's tone offered no argument; and if Blair hadn't known any better, she would've said he was angry. But Bart Bass was almost impossible to read. She hadn't even seen him come into the party - hadn't seen him for almost three weeks, actually, and she knew that for a fact because she'd been actively looking for him. Hoping to get some answers.

"Mr. Bass," she blurted now, before Bart could disappear completely.

He paused to glance at her.

"Have you...heard from Chuck?" She already knew he wouldn't have - but she was desperate for anything. Even a reaction from him. His features remained impassive as ever, though.

"No."

"Do you know when he's coming back?" She hated it; the all too evident edge of wild need in her voice. She was sure he'd picked up on it too, but he simply shook his head, regarding her.

"I'm afraid I don't."

And it was quite obvious it wasn't bothering him, either. He went to turn away and she lurched after him (lurched because she was suddenly aware of how many cocktails she seemed to have drunk, and the room was now spinning uncomfortably and she couldn't _take_ this any more) -

"What happened?" she demanded. "What did you say to him?"

Bart paused for a moment. He spared her a glance. "What are you talking about?"

She set her jaw, managing to keep steady on her feet. "Chuck," she stated. "When you didn't show up to dinner that night, what did you do to him?"

Bart just frowned and shook his head. "He disappointed me, and I let him know as much." He looked at her, tone stiffening. "Is there a problem?"

But he _knew_ there was - because what he'd described was a common enough occurrence in the Bass household. It wasn't enough to make Chuck go AWOL for a month. It wasn't enough for the look Blair had seen in his eyes.

"Did something else happen?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," Bart sighed.

"And you don't care," she hissed.

But before Bart could respond, Eleanor's sharp voice cut in. "What is going on?" She took hold of her daughter's arm, fingers sharp. "Blair. Darling. What are you doing?" Then, as she got a little closer, eyes widening in horror as she sniffed - "Are you _drunk_?" Her voice was a furious whisper. "What is _wrong _with you?"

Blair shook. "I-"

"Go and get cleaned up," Eleanor said out of the side of her mouth. "Now. And don't come back till you've learned how to behave." She'd already turned to the man. "I'm so sorry about this, Bart..."

Quickly, Blair left the room; jaw set in her determination not to cry, even as her eyes burned so that she didn't notice - no one noticed - the eyes of a certain uncle tailing her steps.

She didn't know how long she'd spent in Serena's room, face buried into the pillow as she lay curled on her side, fingers hooked through the comforter. But at some point she heard the door slowly creak open.

"Are you all right?"

* * *

"Did Blair have any health problems that you knew of?"

Serena and Nate exchanged a glance, before looking back at the investigator.

"You mean," Serena ventured at last, "Other than...?"

"Not the bulimia," Marie confirmed. "Was there anything else?"

"No," Serena frowned at last, and Nate was shaking his head too. "Not that I knew anything about."

Marie nodded. She pursed her lips, looking between them. "Then is there a chance that she was pregnant?"

Both their eyes widened. "Wh-"

"Did you find something?" Serena demanded anxiously. "Was she-"

"There's no evidence physically that she was," Marie assured them. "But we have reason to believe that she might have contacted Fairview Treatment Centre. Can you think of any reason why she might have done that?"

Again, Nate and Serena exchanged lost glances. Fairview Treatment Centre? They'd never even heard of the place.

"No," Serena said at last. "I mean, the only doctor she saw was Dr. Sherman. She never mentioned anything about anywhere else."

Marie nodded again. She suspected as much, anyway. "We've contacted Fairview to see a list of their patients, but there's no record of a Blair Waldorf. I wondered if she might have used a fake name."

They both considered this. "Was there an Audrey?" Nate asked half-heartedly. "Hepburn?"

"No," Marie sighed.

"What about Holly Golighty? Grace Kelly?"

But the investigator kept shaking her head. "Actually, I wanted to show you a list of names and ask if any of them seemed at all familiar. Or might have meant anything." She produced a sheet and handed it over. The two blond heads bent over it, scanning carefully.

There was nothing until somewhere near the bottom, when Nate's brow furrowed slightly.

"What about Katherine Merteuil?" He frowned, straining to remember. "There's something familiar about Katherine Merteuil."

Serena considered it too, realising the same thing. "Kind of," she admitted. "But I have no idea where from." She looked doubtful. "Is it possible that it's just someone we actually know?"

"Perhaps," the investigator agreed. "But we'll look into it anyway. Is there nothing else?"

"No," Serena sighed at last. "None of the other names mean anything."

"All right." Marie took the paper back, writing down a few more notes. "Thank you for your time."

"That's it?" Nate echoed. "That's all you've got? The chance that she may or may not have gone to some treatment center that doesn't even have _records _of her?"

Serena looked at him in surprise. Not because she disagreed with what he'd said - but because _he'd _said it.

Marie, however, was unaffected. "At the moment," she sighed, looking them both straight in the eye, "Yes. That's all there is." Her tone was patient but firm. "And I'll let you know the second we get anything else."

She saw herself out; and, once she'd gone, Serena glanced at Nate again. And this time there was genuine gratitude in her eyes.

"Thank you," she mumbled softly.

He frowned. "For what?" But his expression had softened too, and he was finally looking at her again.

"For sticking up for Blair." Serena bit her lip. "For...being there?"

"Serena," Nate said, shaking his head; "I told you from the start. I never wanted to pick a side." He held her gaze. "I want to find out what happened to her just as much as you do." Serena gazed back, and his hand brushed hers, lightly, across the sofa. "And..." He swallowed as their fingers linked, gently tightened. "I'm always here."

* * *

"Charles."

Chuck should have been far too out of it to even recognise the voice on the other end of the line, but those cold tones (and the fact that it had been insistent staff that had forced the phone on him) left him already, instinctively, sitting up. Even as he cursed, loathed himself for it.

"Charles, you need to get back from Prague. Now. I expect to see you here in time for the first day of school."

And his father had hung up before Chuck could even argue back.

He smashed the phone against the wall, and he had another drug induced nightmare that night - always that he pushed her and she fell too far - and there was no one there to catch her. He felt it again when he woke up disorientated and panting, soaked in sweat. That prickle of dread on top of all the agonizing guilt.

He was still drinking when he climbed into the car that would take him to the Bass jet, nerves still shot - and the only thing that mattered was getting home and getting to her.

Which was how Blair found him, ten hours later.

Eleanor had only flown back for Christmas and New Years; she was in Paris again now, and Harold was working late. (He seemed to be doing that a lot lately). Blair had been in school a day early for committee meetings and hockey practice; she was tired, now, and already dreading actual school tomorrow. Which Blair Waldorf had never done before. She wanted something to keep her busy - but she didn't want to face people. It had started raining on the way home, too, something even she hadn't prepared for. So she was not only exhausted, but soaked through to the bone.

But she froze to an absolute stop as she climbed out of the elevator and saw the figure standing in the foyer.

Her eyes moved numbly (greedily) over his disheveled appearance - in truth, he looked like hell. His dark hair was a mess, his long coat rumpled even over his clothes, his skin deathly in the light of the hall. Whatever he'd taken was clearly no closer to leaving his system.

And as she stared at him, she tried to draw on anger, to fortify herself - till he turned and looked at her. She'd never seen those dark eyes more lost. More desperate.

He managed her name, voice breaking. And he went to move towards her, but she'd already buried herself in his arms. He held her fiercely, and she clung on for dear life; breathing in the scent of scotch and weed and God knew what else - and _Chuck_. His arms were hot against her damp skin as she buried her face in the front of his coat, and he buried his lips in her hair.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, harshly, against her skin.

She felt tears stinging with the rain water on her face, but she kept her hands fisted on his lapels, her head under his chin. "It's ok," she whispered into him. She closed her eyes, just breathing. Finally breathing. "It's ok."

It wasn't till they were curled up in her bed, fully clothed and buried against each other, that he finally told her the truth. She gripped his shoulders and told him she could care less if Bart Bass thought a baby was to blame for anything - if Chuck ever left her again, she would blame him till his dying breath. "Don't do that to me," she hissed. Begged. "Please don't go anywhere."

And it was then, his own eyes closed as her fingers pressed into his skin, that he told her the real truth. The only one that mattered, anyway, as his eyes found hers. Found home again, finally, his voice raw.

"I love you."

* * *

Nate was still there when Chuck and Lily got back - and for a moment, it struck the blond just how long it had been since the three of them were in a room together. Blair had been the person who kept them together, he couldn't help but reflect.

Lily stood warily between her daughter and stepson, as though waiting for Serena to start something. Serena had stiffened a little, but her eyes finally moved to Chuck.

And Lily and Nate were equally shocked when she actually addressed him.

"Chuck."

He turned his own hollow gaze on her. Lip curling. "Sis."

"Do you know who Katherine Merteuil is?"

For a second, he almost stared at her. There was a flicker of something, which disappeared as soon as it entered his eyes. "Katherine Merteuil." He corrected her pronunciation blankly, but he was still regarding her. "From Les Liaisons Dangereuses."

Blair's favourite character from Les Liaisons Dangereuses, to be more exact.


	11. Chapter 11

_Fairview Treatment Centre Patient Records_

_Name : Katherine Merteuil_

_Sex: Female_

_Age: 17_

_1st visit: 08.23.2008_

_1st follow up: 09.01.2008_

_2nd follow up: Missed_

_Patient missed all further appointments._

Marie flicked through the medical files one more time. Physically, this patient could have matched up to Blair Waldorf. Which would mean she'd gone to Fairview seven months before committing suicide. If 'Katherine Merteuil' was a pseudonym Blair had used...the investigator's eyes moved to the patient's condition once more. Well, if that were the case, they would need to test Blair's blood. Immediately.

She reached for her phone, about to contact Harry at pathology - they'd still have a sample, of course - but it rang before she could enter his number. Frowning, she answered.

* * *

When Eric got back from Jonathon's, he forgot himself for a moment - because Nate and Serena were side by side on the sofa, and for a moment it seemed completely normal. He remembered as he moved closer, of course, realising as he did so that they were both listening, intently, to Serena's cell.

"There's no answer," Serena sighed. "She must be busy. Maybe it's not office hours."

"We'll go down to the station tomorrow morning," Nate started - breaking off when he saw Eric. Serena followed his gaze, managing a smile at her little brother.

"Hey. How was Jonathon's?"

"Good." And Eric meant it, smiling back, but he paused to watch both of them. He wondered what they were up to, of course - but it was just so good to see them together again. Like something, somewhere, finally made sense again. "Where's mom?" he asked instead.

"She left early for the gala," Serena sighed. "I think she's hoping the sooner she gets there, the sooner she and Bart can leave." She pulled a face and Eric grinned wryly in return.

He excused himself to head upstairs - without specifically mentioning Chuck, since he didn't want to ruin the atmosphere in the room or disrupt the couple on the sofa any further. He passed an unbelievably disheveled (high? hungover?) Jack on the way, who threw him a quick wink.

Chuck was in his room, of course, reading a book as Eric came in. That in itself was a rare sight of late - to see him doing _anything_. Eric dimly made out a French title, but he didn't pry. Chuck also seemed slightly more alert than usual. Or at least, more in the room than he'd been in a long time. There was a definite shift in his mood, subtle and slight enough that Eric couldn't quite define it. Enough that he wondered if he might even have been imagining it.

"Good therapy session?" he ventured at last.

Chuck's lip just curled in answer; but his face wasn't too harsh.

They were interrupted, eventually, by Nate. Except - following him - was Serena. And even Chuck gave her a brief glance. She folded her arms, but moved further into the room and closer to Chuck, shutting the door behind her.

"We need to talk." She cleared her throat, regarding her stepbrother. "And you need to answer me."

Chuck watched her coolly back. His eyes were hooded, half closed, his lip still turned. "Fire away." His voice was still blank, though his eyes stayed on the blonde. Almost interested despite the detachment.

Serena swallowed. But she seemed determined to press on, particularly at a glance from Nate. Eric suspected it had been his idea to even approach Chuck in the first place. "Have you heard of Fairview Treatment Centre?" Serena asked at last. "Do you know if Blair went there?"

Eric's head whipped round, staring at Chuck. But those dark eyes stayed empty.

"No."

Serena bit her lip. "Was Blair pregnant, Chuck? Did she get an abortion?"

And that finally, actually, made Chuck look. "No," he answered. His voice was slow and distant. "That's not possible."

All three of them were staring at him now. "Then," Serena struggled, "Why would she have killed herself?" It was half question, half accusation as her glare burned into him. "_Tell_ me, Chuck. How could she possibly have been suicidal?"

There was a silence.

Then, rigidly; "Does it matter?"

"Of course it does!" Serena was almost beside herself now. "How can you even say that? Of course it _matters_!" Her voice rose, blue eyes unwavering. "I want you to tell me why you think my best friend would even have considered killing herself. Tell me!"

"I don't know," Chuck answered at last. He was no longer even looking at her. At any of them. Didn't they think he'd asked her enough times to begin with? Tried to do enough of his own investigating? Of course _why _had been his first question. But finding out why wouldn't - hadn't - done anything to help her, at the end of the day. "It wouldn't have stopped her." His face twisted. Because it didn't matter what he'd done or said - the point was that she'd wanted to die. And it still didn't matter. She was gone. Finding out why wouldn't change that.

"Stopped her?" Nate repeated, confused. He watched his best friend in bewilderment. "But...I thought..."

"You said you both wanted to die." Serena cut in, and the anger in her voice might have flayed someone else. But it wasn't just anger; it was desperation. "You said you had a pact. What do you mean _stopped _her?" Chuck looked like he wasn't going to answer, so she grabbed his shirt. Hard. "Did you kill her, Chuck?"

Nate jerked forwards too late to try and stop her, while Eric still couldn't quite believe what Serena was asking - that she'd said it - but Serena wouldn't let go. She forced Chuck's face back round to her, shrugging Nate off.

"_Tell_ me!"

Silence.

This time Nate did manage to pull Serena away. She recoiled from all of them, shaking her head furiously.

"Fine," she spat. "Fine."

She was on the verge of storming out, though, when Chuck finally answered. And his voice was still empty, but there was a tightness underneath it. Like he was forcing himself to speak, forcing it out of him.

"I don't know why she wanted to kill herself."

Serena just scoffed in disgust, but Chuck shook his head.

"I didn't want that," he whispered, harshly. "I never wanted that. She did. Not me." They stared at him, and Serena finally stopped. "I don't know why she did," he repeated.

The blonde paused. "How am I supposed to believe you?" Her voice caught - "How am I supposed to - how - how could I have missed it?" And her voice finally broke completely. "How could I not have known?" Her entire face crumpled, and Nate could've sworn his heart did too. "How could I not have noticed," she sobbed, "If she was hurt?"

* * *

"Is she hurt?" Serena came hurtling across the snow, oblivious to her skis, straight at the brunette in Nate's arms. "What happened? What happened to her?"

"She came round the bend -" Nate flinched at the memory; the small figure in blue shooting out too far and too fast, dark hair whipping through the wind as she was catapulted into the air for just a second - and then the crumpled heap in the snow, fanned by dark curls that he couldn't get to fast enough - "She was going too fast. She hit her head-"

"Blair." The voice ripped across the slope before Chuck did; and then he was there, dark eyes burning and black hair wild.

As the paramedics arrived to take her away, neither Chuck nor Serena would let go of her. And it didn't help when the paramedics pointed out that there was only room for one of them in the ambulance - Serena lashed out first, shaking her head.

"This is your fault, Chuck! If you hadn't pushed her in that stupid competition in the first place-"

Nate knew she was just angry, just scared and desperate. But he also knew that Serena wasn't lying, because she did blame him. (And it may have been a few months ago now, and it may have been unlike Serena to bear a grudge - but she hadn't quite forgotten about Chuck's trip to Prague). Even if it wasn't true in this instance - the competition had been just as much Blair as it was Chuck, after all.

They'd been trying to out-ski each other since the four of them had arrived at the Archibald's chalet. Nate was pretty sure they had some kind of bet, though he wasn't too clear on the conditions. Their last challenge had been who could get down the fastest on two of the black routes - the most difficult ones there. Nate had taken the first with Blair, and Serena the second with Chuck (the two blonds had started off equal parts amused and bemused by their friends' antics, as ever). Except Blair had taken it too fast.

"Chuck," Nate intervened swiftly, now. "Come on. We can follow right behind. You need to phone her parents, anyway."

Chuck's eyes never left the brunette on the stretcher, but he gave in with a low growl, following Nate into the waiting car. And once they got to the hospital, he was at her side again in seconds. And this time, Serena (she regretted what she'd said, Nate knew) didn't stop him.

* * *

Serena came out of her bathroom to find Nate still waiting for her. She joined him on the bed, pyjama-clad, and smiled wanly. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "All I seem to be doing is crying lately." But in some ways, the crying was easier than... Well, it might have been exhausting, but Serena could almost see, when she looked at Chuck - Chuck who she'd never seen shed a single tear, even now - how crying might also have been cathartic. It had never occurred to her before. But then, she'd never cried this much before.

Nate just smiled back, and she could see the sadness in his eyes. She'd always loved how clear his eyes were; simple and easy to read, each of his emotions spelled out in shining familiar blue.

"Serena-"

But she found herself leaning in before he could finish his sentence, her lips brushing his. He gazed at her.

"Are you ok?" he murmured.

"No," she admitted back. She attempted a smile, but his brow was furrowed as he leaned his forehead against hers, hand tangling in familiar blonde hair. They were a mess. All three of them. (But still none so much as Chuck, Nate knew, lying alone across the corridor in an empty room).

"Do you want me to go?"

"No," she whispered.

So he lay down on the bed with her, arms wrapped around her, and the two of them stayed there.

* * *

The two of them stayed there, in front of the log fire, Chuck's larger body curled around Blair's smaller one; the flutter of her eyelashes against his chest and the weight of her head on his.

Blair hadn't had concussion, thankfully, but the stitches in her head and a sprained ankle had meant skiing was out of the question for the rest of the holiday. She'd been furious, of course. The three of them had tried to stay with her out of consolidation, but Blair, cranky at being cooped inside, had eventually driven them out.

"You came here to _ski_, Serena. And I need a nap. Go!"

Chuck had waited till the blondes had bounded on ahead (seriously, sometimes they were like a pair of retrievers, especially cramped into that small chalet) before turning and slipping back in. As predicted, Blair hadn't been asleep - she was attempting to retrieve _Roman Holiday _from its place on top of the shelf, awkward with her weak leg. Chuck had rolled his eyes in amusement, and she'd turned instantly.

"I though I told you to-"

He'd ignored her protests, of course.

And _Roman Holiday _lay forgotten now as they settled in front of the fire's roaring heat. It was the heat of his breath, though, that sent tingles down her spine as she glanced up at him. The familiar line of his jaw above hers, his hands wrapped around her rib cage. His hazel eyes smirked down at her, smoldering in the light as his lips traced her cheekbone and moved to her neck. She kissed him then, hungrily.

It was when they were on the luxuriant fur of the thick rug, Chuck's hands under Blair's plaid skirt and her fingers slipping under the his cashmere sweater that he paused, capturing her on top of him. His own hot fingers grazed the line of her tights. "You sure?" Her skin glowed amber in the light of the fire, her dark eyes pooling above him as her loose curls brushed his skin.

But he already knew the answer to that question; and she _wanted_ him, the heat of his chest and his hands on her, his breath mingling with hers as her fingers dug into scalp till they were one and the same person.

* * *

Detective Brown sighed, placing down the phone. The message had been waiting for him the moment he'd got to his office that morning - Harold Waldorf, demanding answers. Brown got the sense that the man was usually mild-mannered; he sounded anything but now. Brown wasn't sure if that was his ex-wife's pressure or his own distress. In any case, Harold Waldorf was seeming more and more determined to rule out the idea of his daughter being suicidal.

And Brown still had nothing. The Basses were as unco-operative and well-protected as ever - and while he suspected evidence of other minor offenses from Chuck Bass (bar fights, perhaps, under-age drinking or illegal drugs) - all of them had been covered with large sums of money. He was only hoping now that Marie might have something for him on the girl.

But he was interrupted on his way to her office by one of his colleagues, wide-eyed and a little breathless.

"Have you heard? About Marie?"

Brown stared. "Heard what?"

"She's been suspended," the woman breathed. "For now, anyway - but she's probably going to be kicked off the force."

"_What?" _Brown couldn't believe it; he must have misheard.

"Apparently she was having an affair with the chief." His colleague glanced around, lowering her voice further. "And that's not all. She's being investigating for corrupting evidence. _And _money laundering." She shook her head. "You think you know someone..."

Brown pushed past her immediately, now running towards Marie's office. There had to be some kind of mistake. There was no way Marie would ever -

But when he got there, the investigator was in the process of emptying the room. And Brown only had to take a glance at her white face to know that it wasn't because she was simply moving offices.

She looked up as he came in, and her shoulders dropped further. "You've heard, then," she whispered. It had been one long, surreal nightmare ever since she'd got the call yesterday.

Brown took hold of her. "Marie," he promised, "We're going to find out who started these lies. No one in their right mind would believe_ you_ could ever do something like that-"

She flinched, at that. Moved away from him, looking down. "They're not all lies," she managed.

He stared. "What?"

"I...I was having an affair." Her eyes lifted again, almost desperately - "But the rest isn't true. I swear to you, someone has-"

"You were having an affair? With the _chief_?" Brown could only stare at her. He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Because the truth was, he'd practically idolized Marie. All these years - he'd been so in awe of her skill. Her integrity. And now - "How could you?"

"It was a mistake," Marie struggled. "I know that. But you have to believe me-"

But Brown was already walking away from her, still shaking his head in horror. "No, I don't." His gut was still reeling as he left; he needed to get the hell out of there.

A desperate tear trickled down Marie's face - because if Brown didn't believe her, no one would. She'd never see the inside of a police bureau now. Even if she somehow managed to lift the other charges, her reputation was already shot. The chief, of course, had no choice but to turn his back on her (he'd made as much clear) or risk losing his own job. In a matter of hours, she'd lost all of it. And she still wasn't even sure how.

She was barely even aware of what she was doing - and she didn't care, either - as she struggled with the boxes on her way out. That was all she needed, to drop all of them in front of everybody. It was on her fourth attempt to get out of the main door with them that a voice offered to help. She dizzily accepted, taking in a purple tie and smile (a stranger - that was the only reason she'd got a smile - she could feel everyone else whispering as they looked at her)and, at his insistence, she let him carry the boxes stacked with all the files.

At some point she'd have to send the files over to Brown, but for now, that was the last thing on her mind.

* * *

This, Blair knew - this was her first time. Shadows of flames flickering over Chuck's skin as his mouth covered hers, the burning heat of him in between her legs and the golden flecks in his eyes all that she could see. As she arched her back against the rug, the imprint of her nails in his spine and his hands on her hips, her waist - this was the only first time that mattered. Blair&Chuck.

* * *

"What do you mean she's not here?"

Brown didn't appreciate being spoken down to by the two towering blonds. Especially not today, of all days.

"Investigator Winslet is no longer on the case," he responded stiffly.

Serena van der Woodsen frowned. "But we have information for her. She wanted to know-"

"I will be reviewing her findings," the detective interrupted. Weary. "Once I've read through her notes, I'll contact you. And in the meantime I'll have to ask you to be patient."

The blonde gave him a little glare, ready to answer back - but she relented once the boy at her side caught her arm. She lowered her head a little instead, sighing. "Ok. Please let us know when you do."

The two of them left.

Brown exhaled. He _would_ have to look through Marie's files. At the moment, though, he couldn't quite bring himself to do so. And who knew if they could even trust what she'd found? If she really had corrupted evidence before -

His whirling thoughts were interrupted once again, by another knock on his door. He got to his feet impatiently. "Yes?"

He was met with a man he didn't recognise. He was slickly suited, cologne, purple tie and all - but under that seamless appearance, Brown just caught slightly bloodshot eyes - something ravaged, just below the surface. His smile was charming enough nonetheless.

"Mr. Bass," he introduced himself, hand thrust out. But it was neither father nor son, Brown knew. The man's eyes gleamed. "I'm here because I have some information I'd like to report. And I think you may be interested."

* * *

They were both bathed in sweat, the fire dim embers now that radiated in the darkness. His heartbeat gradually slowed under her ear, her legs curled in his as they leaned against the sofa on the floor and his hands threaded through her hair.

"This is why you should never go faux fur," Chuck mused, tracing the flawless white of Blair's spine. "No carpet burns."

Blair just smirked and nestled her head further against him. She could feel the vibration of his voice, her head against the hollow of the throat. She half closed her eyes, breathing him in. Sometimes just looking at him _hurt_, and she didn't want it to ever change.

"Love me?" she murmured.

"Always."

* * *

The van der Basses were sat down for the first family meal in...well, a long time. Overcompensation abounded with the mountains of exquisite food - but Lily still looked like she couldn't quite believe Serena and Chuck were at the same table. And Serena hadn't directed a single glare in his direction. It still wasn't comfortable, exactly. But it was the closest semblance to normal they'd been in a while.

Even Bart seemed to have picked up on it. Lily caught him regarding his son, briefly, at one point.

The difference wasn't Chuck though - it was Serena. She was decidedly subdued, as though whatever anger had seemed to be fueling her for the past few weeks had eased off. (And long may it last, Lily reflected). And best of all, Jack was out for the evening. Which meant that Lily could just enjoy the company of her husband and children. With any luck, Jack would off soon anyway - he never stayed longer than a few weeks.

They were in the middle of listening to one of Eric's amusing stories when the elevator went. Lily rose to her feet, frowning - and stopped when she saw the three police officers.

Bart was already moving in front of her, squaring up to them. "Can I help you?" His voice was icy, but the men were colder still. Matter of fact.

"Is your son here, Mr. Bass?"

Bart stiffened instantly. But he wasn't a fool - he knew refusing to co-operate would do nothing to help, and so had no choice other than to get the boy. He was already going through a list of the calls he would need to make anyway, his lawyer being top of that list. There was no way he was going to let this happen.

Chuck regarded the men in silence. Impassive as ever.

"Charles Bass?" The first police officer approached him. "We're arresting you on suspicion of first degree murder." Serena made a noise of horror, but Chuck was still silent as they cuffed him. "You don't have to say anything, but anything you do say may later be held against you in court."

* * *

**A/N Thank you so much for your reviews! Sorry this chapter is slightly shorter. Also, skiing/chalet scenes are sort of inspired by 'The Pact'...Next chapter will be longer! **


	12. Chapter 12

A/N

Sorry this isn't a real chapter - I just wanted to apologise for how ridiculously long it's been since I've updated. My whole laptop crashed a while back, which made writing Fanfic almost impossible. I finally have a new laptop now, but have just gone into exam term. I'm really sorry, but I doubt I'll have time to update (well, if I do then exams will probably suffer as a result!) But I have NOT abandoned this story - I promise, once exams are over, I'll be straight back to regular updates. I would never leave a story unfinished. As soon as I have the time again, this will be my priority. Thank you so, so much to everyone who's reviewed - your patience is amazing, and massively appreciated! I'm hoping you won't have given up altogether by the time I start updating again - there are still several more chapters to go.

And my other story, Not Your Autumn Moon, has gone even longer without being updated - I had a nasty case of writers block, but I do have an end in mind (I was just having difficulties working out how to get there, and got distracted by this fic instead). Again, it will definitely not be left unfinished! I've had several ideas since, so it should also get going once this horrible term is out of the way.

My apologies again!


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